Long slow awaited anticipation of forewarned illuminated dreams,
spelled out in grotesque hurried letters, made of toothpaste,
and shaving cream,
in the mirror.
I used ta run out into my snow filled yard
and write poems
in the snow
with hot steaming piss,
like some ugly graphic love song
to the sky.
Come inside I said, and listen to jambands on my stereo,
cricketing along through walls,
and just wont die,
but my neighbors don't complain.
When I stood with the door ajar, watching you drive off,
whipping your path through the unplowed roads of Vermont.
My bird feeder's full, but it gets no feathertailed visitors and I wonder if it has anything to do with me,
and my incessant screaming, at the walls.
Well, it looks as if it were going to be a brand new Year,
of more unsolicited complaints,
and happy sarcasm,
wits matched fer no reason, except fun at drunkin party nights and unexplained treasons.
I guess I ain't got nuthin to say of late,
and poetry's just gotten dry,
cause only cheesy metaphors come to mind,
Like some nature show bullshit river in the dry season.
I feel cracked up, wasted and useless.
Like a match that's faded out, and the smell still lingers in the air.
Go to the bar of any small town and listen,
to the old faded glory days,
of a once too often washed shirt of an ex highschool football player.
Like Sundays, in the bars of Maywood and Hyde Park,
and everyone's got some extra story of bein an extra
sad lonely whores wander the streets still talking bout that one trick they pulled
"Raked in a fuckin cool three g's Hunny..."
While junkies speak a cheatin death so often.
"man, My lips were fuckin BLUE."
My sense of dignity escapes in cold puffs of air,
through the thinning atmosphere
of My December afternoons spent walking down the train tracks,
a singing an' clappin my hands.
tossin rocks along the thin cover of ice...
and I wonder bout my aspirations,
do I get to catcall loudly in the ears of a sober woman,
"Man, I fuckin wrote this poem once,
Make you fuckin CREAM, make your nose BLEED, have you eatin off my balls, lickin sweat,
from the crack a' ma ass."
Sheeit!
Or am I doomed,
to eat my own garbage night after night,
feeling like some hole in my stomach will only get teased,
like I can smell the goddamn food,
but not eat it.
With the nicotine stained finger heartbeat throbbing in my wrist eatin pussy
that smells like life itself,
inside the human soul.
Yeah, I got a good life,
but should it be enough?
cause it don't seem all too good, when apathy's takin to bein the back seat driver.
Ineptitude with aggrivated ambition make a strong cocktail and I feel used, wrung out...
like the lampshades, the blinds, in a smokers home.
A contest entry
- I heard of a man... by -ButterflyCuts-.
375 points, ended January 25, 2007, 13 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
all of it
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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The title is what drew me in. Great one.
everytime i see your name I think of the group Supertramp.
This long winding tale takes some twists and turns. Second to last stanza especially.
enjoyed giving this a read.
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Your poetry has this unique way of making the seemingly unbearable bearable...such beauty in the filth of life. Feel like I need to take a bath in Bukowski's old bathwater now, with that sponge. Yet another masterpiece.
One Love
Justine
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I am sitting here going through the entries of this contest and this stands out for me. It is really quiet good, raw and honest. I like your original wordign and phrases. Best wishes, Trina
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Wow. This is a pretty cool little poem! I like it.
The words and story of it is very creative and different. I don't know that all of it I followed but I liked the images and how it was like your thoughts were running wild in you. And to me it sounded just like life for a lot of people and how it can seem so monotonous. Lestways, that's how I took it. 
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I love and adore this poem, and I think many if not all the readers before agree that this is a very beautiful and well written and a well crafted poem. I like the rhyme and I love the alliteration. This is simply spectacular. I applaud you and I salute you for it. This poem has great imagery, so much description and details. Its incredibly good. you have terrific potential. peace to you
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The spelling is purposeful isn't it. fer, ta, etc..
I really liked this. It's too early to comment properly.. before 9am!
I'll be back x
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