Wednesday, September 25, 2013

poem of the day 09.25.13

nowhere to run

it happened here on 78th street
going through brooklyn
when i began crying to springsteen songs

man, i don’t know what it is about bruce
maybe the cadence in his voice

but something in his music just gets me

i try not to listen too often
except when i’m down
then i listen all the time

because i believe in the promise of catharsis

and whatever it is that bruce springsteen is selling
i’m usually buying

i have an acid stomach again
from another go round with whiskey and beer

i’ve had the shits all morning
and i feel like vomiting all over 78th street

cuddling up next to the garbage cans and recycling bins
to wait for the sanitation workers to take me away
with the rest of the trash

while bruce springsteen keeps singing for the lonely

nearly twenty years down this road
and i can count the weeks off from drinking on one hand

can trace my escalation points
as i moved from city to city in this circus life

pinpointing which apartment it was
that i moved from weekend drinking

to beer nights to wine nights
to pumping whiskey down my throat

before the work clothes came off
and the house lights came on
just so i could pass out to do it all again the next day

yesterday i resolved to have nothing
but i started late
and had six drinks in four hours

i only stopped because i knew that i had to get up
and write this poem

christ, imagine if i’d started drinking yesterday
when i normally do?

i probably would’ve called off of work
to caress the porcelain goddess again

but most days i just hang around
in a tired and irritable cloud

hanging on until the next drink

i sit around waiting for my heart to give out
that is, if a have a heart left to give

i sit around like dudes in springsteen songs
waiting for the embers of life to spark anew

a great and hulking american sob story
restless from lamenting my youth

decades past my glory
and fearful of what the future will bring

encased in my own soap opera
of self-created traps and pitfalls

just another guy burning asphalt with his pale drama
hugging the damp ridges of a dirt grave

growing tired and bored with himself

but always looking out for the chance of grace
heroic redemption

hoping to one day bask
in the glorious warmth of the blinding light.

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