curmudgeon

i’ve let this sit
for a week or more
and it hasn’t changed much
all this comes to me
in little bursts, circling
obsessive cats,country girls,
hippies with beads,
captured children
and vampires on motor scooters
one hot day at the race track, and
one paycheck away from poverty
with no hope and no fear
i tapped
revelations and revolutions
from a fire tipped barley wine bottle
still sick and lazy
with nothing to write
and i’ve noticed,
in collective we are
shit for brains
dulled, awkward,
and slow to respond
this leaves my words
intentionally abstract, guided
waiting for the reader to decide
what it means and how it ends
subjective, so mixed up and
getting older
it’s all just a confidence game,
and even though
they’re asking me to travel
too far, too fast
i don’t believe these people
control me
but there’s always conflict
cause where would we be without that?

on the second day
i bought a record
one of only three thousand
rare and valuable for a sucker
it’s still hot
but the summer’s almost over
and once again i’ve reached the end
with a blistered body
binding a taxed soul
and driving these blue roads
like veins through the city
at night
with crushed silver
and dead batteries
i’m fueled by
boredom, expectations
fear and loathing, and
intrigue casts a drama like
false playwrights
forced to live off memories
and status updates
while i sit listening
to the sounds of passing traffic
with no pedestrians
stirring in that house, alone
with the sound of air conditioners
and wood stoves
cold sweats, and wet socks
sunlit smoke, hiding axes and oil lamps
i’ve lost that magic touch
lurking on the edges of civilized society
i’m nothing more than an
anti-social anarchist
antagonizing, and abdicating
this fictional throne
through honest abolition

 

 

 

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