nocturnal

this monkey on my back

is a 500 pound gorilla

but i can still dance

under all its weight

 

the rain is also dancing

outside the bar

but my jukebox selection

is playing father john misty

and it’s all i can hear

 

my elbow hurts

from all the weight lifting

but i won’t stop

till six feet of earth defines

 

will they put a bell over my grave

and a guardian to hear

if i pull the string?

 

this is not where i want my thoughts to go

i’m still in hollywood

and leaving slow

 

i’m not here to act

or be discovered

but i’m looking for a place

that won’t charge a cover

 

monkeys are mean

and i’m tired of their feces

i recognize faces

but i can’t remember names

 

alcohol is to blame

or is it these weight lifting muscles

that keep doing twelve ounce curls?

 

i’m not even writing in this world

and should go home tomorrow

to make sure there is dry food

still in the bowl i left in the kitchen for the cat

and scoop the cat box i had to go out and buy

 

oh why do i try to reason a rhyme

when i truly believe there is no reason

i’m wet in the dry season

eeyore in the rain

while everyone else sees meaning

and no one i meet has read sartre’s nothingness and being

 

recant, retract and be

but all celestial spheres are round

because of gravity

there is no lathe of heaven

 

and i’m just sitting in a bar

ninety-two million miles from our star

and every time a humanoid speaks

i hear nothing i haven’t heard before

 

your ignorance is a bore

and i like to roam where people comb the night

things are happening

and i just don’t feel as bored

like a suburbanite

 

don’t hang with me

you puppet on a string

nothing makes sense

and there is no recompense

 

i will carry this stone

and i will be alone

and the alcohol?

well, that is the real problem after all

 

***