deepundergroundpoetry.com
killed the bluebird
there’s nothing but whores around, a man can’t find a
woman to love even if he wanted to.
hold your fire, ladies, I know the other side of the argument:
it’s men who make you that way.
reach out, I reach out in the darkness looking for a hand that
needs to be held like mine does, but I only get it burned or
crushed & I don’t need the pain. don’t need no bluebird
dreams, don’t need no bluebird love. just need my fix & I won’t
elaborate. it’s my secret little joy bringer that mellows me thru
the long lonely night. it kisses me into euphoria like no woman
ever did. forget about me, baby.
I try to stay in my sullen mélange with a whispering candle to
light my deluded Henry Miller habit, but I’m a sucker for every
dame with a sad story who taps on my rear window. she makes
herself at home & gets comfortable in my poems with no shoes
on. it’s nice & I almost lose my moody blue pallor. then she
sneaks out one night when her boyfriend calls all full of tears &
sorrys & I’m the one left holding the heartache.
(what? you think a woman has never looked in my eyes, kissed
me, like someone in love? there have been a few who would’ve
joined me in my hell, made it a little more bearable. but I
wouldn’t do it, because I could never have loved them.)
I let the bluebird out of its cage long ago & watched it fly due
south where they horde the sunshine. I envy that kind of freedom,
but if it ever comes near my alley again I will fkn shoot it down…
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