Wednesday, December 22, 2010

license for the blues

there is always someone
clutching the edge of a table
dizzy from being so alone
in need for another set of legs
to keep them from falling down

there is always someone returning
to a place they shared w/another
a little cafe-turned-cemetery
& standing there speechless
while the great teeth of change
grind in their ears

there is always someone
who'd be willing
to pay somebody just to say
goodnight to them
as they reluctantly recline
on the old mattress
insomnia creeping up their shape
starting w/the cold toes

there is always someone
who dreads sunrises
more than a three a.m. phone call
announcing someone else's death
the yellow disc like a circular saw blade
buzzing for their neck

there is always someone
collapsed in a cab
the wheels turning & turning
& them mumbling to the driver
"any address, any address
except for home"
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.