Tuesday, March 13, 2012

other than


slap together some roads and high-rises,
for a civilization of broken hearts,
a malcontent malaise pasted over with smears of fatty diner mayonnaise,
and midnights full of whiskey shots, chased with the hard inhale of weed,
tape the side mirrors to your car,
as cyclists will kick them off again,
as they should,
as we all should,
as I stand with curmudgeons, art therapists,
and unemployed cooks,
having trouble listing our experience,
using language,
let alone,
in the boxes provided,


I go out there,
but I don't know who they want me to be,
a cup of coffee and a positive attitude,
a brow sweat hustle and a "three bags full ma'am,"
but I'm really just the pause in the discussion,
I'm the kid sent to the office,
I go out there but I don't know who I'm supposed to be,
other than the words that drip through the lines on the page,
like the water from the ceiling,
into a sauce pan,
on a chair,
in the corner of your room.











4 comments:

temporal rooms said...

this is a mirror i look into H.P.

"but i am really just the pause in the discussion." this is a fabulous line of loss. "as they should, as we all should,...", that is the point!

who are we supposed to be but victim's of the man who waves the dollar in front of us.

what i love about your poems is your language H.P. it shows one a street level religion so common for a lot of us. it is good to feel
not so alone sometimes.

this is a great bit. to me one of your best.

~robert

Carlito said...

Amen, brutha.

Old Ollie said...

Yes, really stong poem. These thoughts echo in all of us.

Find your bliss lad.

Fisheye Lens said...

A poetic diagnosis of the malaise of modernity.