deepundergroundpoetry.com

Caffeine and the fate of the writer.

Slumped over a coffee
with a bad back;
so much to say
that it has all withered down
to nothing

as lonely men learn to cry
in damp apartments,
whilst banjo players the world over
apply plasters to their bleeding thumbs.

The kids see loitering
around corporate, fast-food outlets
as a gateway to masculinity
and yet, I sit here questioning mine.

Just remember what I said;
'we are without reason.'
The problem lies, not in this,
but in those still looking.

Inside the bars,
cheque books,
antique auctions,
between legs,
in the pages of old, dusty literature,
at the bottom of a glass
or in the violent midst of making conversation.

There is as much use in straining through
as there is in summing it up
in a single line
and wrapping a plastic bag around your head;
the Kosinski way.

Maybe you'd rather go like Berryman,
Hemmingway or dose up on carbon monoxide
just like Sexton, in your mother's fur coat.
Whatever it may be
it doesn't matter.
Just like you
don't matter
to me
nor I
to you.  
 
CruelHandedWriter
Written by CruelHandedWriter (Jamie Rhodes)
Published | Edited 19th Nov 2010
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 5 reading list entries 4
comments 8 reads 977
puckit tidalnymph IMAGO lalu
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
SPEAKEASY
Today 6:13pm by Umm
POETRY
Today 3:35pm by Grace
SPEAKEASY
Today 9:27am by Northern_Soul
SPEAKEASY
Today 9:25am by Northern_Soul
SPEAKEASY
Today 9:13am by Northern_Soul
SPEAKEASY
Today 9:12am by Northern_Soul