(those who can’t find anything to live
for
always invent something to die for –
lew welch)
the
blue poem of nothing borrowed
only
midnight brings tomorrow
i
linger languid, lost, un-layered
when
we abyss i’m the surveyor
stationary,
stagnant, spinning around
with
each rising tide i’m losing ground
sandpaper
sunshine caresses my face
it’s
easy to burn when you’re stuck in place
lew
welch is watching from north of nevada city
“you
know how this ends so why not take pity?”
i
keep waiting for change then tell them to keep it
i
pray for a whirlwind just so i can reap it
the
sky is a blur, a wet watercolor of clouds
i
soak in depression till i’m well endowed
lately
my notebook is unfinished poems
phrases
for boredom collecting like coins
venturing
forth the scenery’s the same
the
jungle is concrete, i feel nothing but tamed
writing
this i almost have purpose
less
like a monkey caged at a circus
waiting
for food and days i perform
if
this satisfies you than you are the norm
slipping
on sorrow i land with a thud
the
spill is a mixture of saline and blood
dipping
my bread same time as the savior
the
bread was so plain i wanted more flavor
casting
off silver won’t equal repentance
after
the harvest there’s no mending fences
gathering
moss without a roll
baking
in hell without console
touching
the time table blank with defeat
the
changes were scheduled, plans were complete
events
remain folded, i’ve waited a year
rescheduling
the schedule, thinking it near
all
i’ve acquired is feeling quite dire
wading
in waiting i’m so uninspired
***
No comments:
Post a Comment