poem of the day 08.31.09

the potato chip and wine man

you say the loft is safe because
of me,
well, all right,
i think it’s the sketches resting
on the floor
but i’m just
the potato chip and wine man
so what in the hell do i know?

you say i look serene
on balconies
falling in love with cities
all over again
but anyway i’m just
the potato chip and wine man
so that can’t be true

you say the poems
come in quality and quantity
sure, sure
it’s easy for
the potato chip and wine man
to scribble down words

because i just sit here
in the living room
an open bag of chips
and a bottle of wine
before noon
as the rain falls
as people have their days
as bombs besiege afghanistan
and half the world
has gone to hell

all of this brilliance, you see,
it just
overtakes me
and i don’t know what to
do with it
so i come here
to this room
to the land of pretty pictures
and white noise

you say you want a revolution
well, you know,
the potato chip and wine man
just wants to make you
laugh because
he loves playing the fool

you say to harness all of the
loneliness from your
youth
and make it great art
jesus, dear,
i’m just the potato chip and wine man
i ain’t picasso
i ain’t lennon
i ain’t god

i’m just
the potato chip and wine man
humming an old tune for you
singing an old song for everyone
the potato chip and wine man
praying for the death of the sun
doing a strange dance
down the alleyway
letting the chips fall where they may
next to broken bottles
and shattered lives