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Image for the poem after sixx

after sixx


this place is like a ghosttown these days
walk down the barren streets, pale in the lamplight
hunch my collar against the wind

there’s a scrawny mutt cowering in the alley
been kicked too many times
and if I said my own name
his eyebrow would rise & he’d bark once for ‘what?’

even uptown where the traffic snarls & spits
my luck’s as ragged as crushed Camel butts
can’t beg a handout or bum a smoke
can’t even get laid

insomnia’s my only blessing
can’t dream if you don’t sleep
the heart is still a hunter
in the dim alcoves of a ramshackle tenement
where love’s an illegal drug

those far-aways & long-agos
still kick me in the back pocket of regret
the country girl who needed a man
to reach the candy jar on the high shelf
or the gypsy-eyed rodeo widow
who slipped out of my lariat

it’ll be another rainy night
and I can’t find a disputatious newspaper to cover my head
so I jam my hands in my pockets
and go home

cold-hearted as I am, I still pity them
who need the wax blowtorched outa their ears

nobody hears the poetry anymore…


(got to have my sixx fixx)


Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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