what I pass off as my worst
is a fiction, well rehearsed
until an old metallic thirst
begins its acrid prowling
grab your coat and leave the key
get picked up in a dim brasserie
the one place you don’t want to be
is Twenty-Third and Dowling
it’s nothing you can argue with
this parasite that gnaws my pith
the grain of truth in every myth
the fear behind the growling
swirling in my vacant eyes
droning like a swarm of flies
a dark and menacing surprise
on Twenty-Third and Dowling
stop asking me to let you in
stop trying to give me medicine
you’ve no idea where I’ve been
or what it is that’s howling
stop sobbing that I’ll be all right
just turn around, turn out the light;
there’s murder
in the air tonight
on Twenty-Third
and Dowling
Thursday, October 30, 2008
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4 comments:
"the grain of truth in every myth"
"stop asking me to let you in
stop trying to give me medicine
you’ve no idea where I’ve been
or what it is that’s howling"
:)
love it. the whole poem gives me such a creepy feeling. i dig it a lot.
you know... sometimes this is exactly what i would like to tell those who are trying to get into my life:
"stop asking me to let you in
...
you’ve no idea where I’ve been"
sounds so right, and yet...
Thrilling to read. Especially the emanating hiss in the first two stanzas. I imagine it said on stage, with timely cued thunder and lightning. ;) Cheers.
WHOA! You're beyond good!
This is so well-written that I believe it's fit for a well-known, long established publication. You know, the kind that actually honors the craft of poetry? I'm thinking maybe The New Yorker would embrace this, along with several other pieces of yours.
Hope you're actively pursuing the big boys of publishing! They need to KNOW about you!
One.
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