I have died hard since than
I have lost my passions for the lusts of these places
I have died by the fire and water that I stewed in for two
equal months simultaneously
The brown eyed voice destroyed me or I destroyed myself with
this beard on these days
After these sunsets I wake up to more sunsets
I open my eyes early to the fading feelings of my neighbors
norm
These hours I fan myself with the blue flames of mediocre
passions
These wimpers of weakened impulse, walk me streets and
alleys and streets of broken asphault
These deep focus centuries of karate have spoiled me and my
humaness
These xylophone working songs have enslaved me as robot to
my mis-steps
These presidings over festivities have lasted long enough
These "he said, she said" conversations outside my arm
length have failed to penetrate my forehead eyeball
These worries of my waking tokens that furlow my red meat
dinners
These lonely instruments that sing rigid because of cold
fingers, scared fingers
These neurons dismembered not by a drug or alcohol but by an
English speaking dream on an early Saturday night
Nights spent with the carpet mites and cartoon authors
These jobs of sorry knowledge and waiting for you to call or
ring a door bell, maybe not mine
These days of messy life and long time no see fevors are
commonplace I know
Orchards of uneatable apples so obvious to those closest to
me, prejudiced as it may be
Lost or found without a foot forward with my rubber soul
planted as a stubborn root
Moneyless, directionless, womanless, selfless, hopeful,
cautioned, helpful, fearful, eyeful, doubtful, healthy,
foolish, calmly, rebel, libel, thoughtful, bashful,
handful, mouthful, comfortable
Reason for writing:
Written when dealing with being lonely in a sort of a manic-depressive "episode" I guess you'd call it. It was quite a while ago.
Birth sign: Taurus
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Bryan.