deepundergroundpoetry.com
Gaze of Glass
Home is
where you are
chipping the stone
to grave applause
a look in the eyes
when the lights go down
awake to
crouching
(sure)
~the stars are not right
for a place
in.between
dilated paranoia,
a mawkish glass
for snorting past
with a blunting bite
as fingertips
crawl on storms
with a ~click
in the night...
a quick blue fire
from Zippo & flesh
within the heat
of a ~~menthol slide:
a cherry-flavored
tongue to throat
for lovesick ash
numb of heart
and heavy with mind:
popping sparks
of hope & high
{gazing glass
of streetlamp eyes}
chip the stone
at crouching dawn
waking from a
wayward soul
~home is
where I am
gettin' mine.
Published 20th Apr 2024
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
21st Apr 2024 10:25am
Now this looks very clever.
I've no idea of the meaning
but it looks like an instant
classic from years ago.
Something that learnéd folk
will be dissecting for
generations to come.
So, perhaps it is a lament,
there's the grave and stone
chippings to keep the weeds
down. A widowers weeds.
But,
" Home is where I'm getting mine "
kinda throws the reader of that track
to another track?
Still, it's got some great rhymes and
movements and pictures like the
"gazing glass of streetlamp eyes"
I've no idea of the meaning
but it looks like an instant
classic from years ago.
Something that learnéd folk
will be dissecting for
generations to come.
So, perhaps it is a lament,
there's the grave and stone
chippings to keep the weeds
down. A widowers weeds.
But,
" Home is where I'm getting mine "
kinda throws the reader of that track
to another track?
Still, it's got some great rhymes and
movements and pictures like the
"gazing glass of streetlamp eyes"
21st Apr 2024 7:45pm
I prefer to write in a kind of "tapestry", that is, I don't write many standalone pieces, and probably 95% of everything I do is a long-running, interconnected narrative. You'll probably see this phrase "getting mine" again in the future. Honestly, I didn't even want the writing bug this weekend! All I wanted to do this weekend, in between bouts of helping my 83 year old mother get around (my unpaid weekend job) was to smoke a li'l sour diesel, eat some ice cream and catch up on episodes of "Shogun". But no, my damn overactive brain is what got me in here ticky-tappin' away on the keyboard like I'm friggin' Ernest Hemingway or somethin'! How I crave boredom these days! Anywho, in this poem there is some drug imagery, a few references to a cruel ex-girlfriend who was a cokehead, an allusion to the return of Chthulhu, and maybe even a torture sequence. I believe what our narrator is "gettin'" at the end is a heaping helping of anxiety over poor life choices and failed relationships, a constant narrative that will run through most everything I produce. Thanks for the opportunity to explain all that! I feel better already!
