Thursday, July 7, 2011

poem of the day 07.07.11

our voices

we struggle to find our voices
as wine glasses shatter
in the kitchen sink
struggle to find the meaning
in million dollar ballplayers cashing checks
we struggle to get to the point
in grocery store aisles
picking out disease filled lettuce and tomatoes
wrestle with our souls
during chase scenes in bad movies
we look to find compassion
in the multitude of dull eyes
watching the road
make the connection
when we can get a signal
want something profound
in the balance of our check books
fall flat on our faces
during the highest peaks of significance
and rage madly drunkenly against the wall
our petty brilliance complete
we struggle to find our voices in silent screams
in muddled protest and ecumenical litany
in the empty refrigerator light
in overtime back pay
in dark buzzing bedrooms that give no solace
go blind reading good books of no value
get ideas from the television god
we struggle with weakness
while beating down those without hope
rest prostrate
when the game is on the line
close the blinds on the beautiful sunset
and raise them to celebrate the ugly dawn
ram cholesterol advice down each other’s throat
pig out on the e-coli buffet
kill each other with false kindness
buy wholesale that which we do not want
sell out in bulk the things that are precious
smell the flowers as they wilt
on carbon imprint stems
we watch the sea rot happily on holiday
do a can-can in our sour dreams
fuck like knives
and then do nothing more
nothing more we say
can be done
we struggle to find our voices
cut from the mother’s womb
at the beginning of abortion life
left mute
an average of seventy-eight years
until we see the wormy grave.


Robbie Grey said...

"Fuck like knives" was an amazing line.

John Grochalski said...

thank you, Robbie.