Tuesday, September 29, 2015

poem of the day 09.29.15

calling marilyn

sitting here
listening to the
lonely scratching voice of mark eitzel
singing a goffin/king song
that i don’t know the name of
marilyn’s phone number
on the nightstand next to an untouched pepsi
jesse says shit or get off the pot
as if it’s that easy
like looking up the addresses
and birthdates of coeds on library computers easy
like how he randy and i spent the night
cyber stalking girls in sundresses on the campus
that has already forgotten me
all these women get younger every year
but i wonder when they’ll be easy
probably when i’m old and don’t care anymore
when they cease to recognize me
when the world finally fails to see me
i think i should just throw away marilyn’s number
walk the earth like cain
finish this pepsi oh anything
but sit here and let mark eitzel make me feel worse
looking around a room full of
beatles posters kerouac posters
liz phair wet and american-flag draped
feeling bad for myself
i clutch the number clutch the phone
dial in a mad sweat
marilyn isn’t even home anyway, you fool
i fall back on the bed in a fever
shat and got off the pot, grochalski
imagine that
calling a woman as simple
as pinching a loaf
of glorious morning dung.


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