life of a poet
Posted: January 18th, 2015, 3:04 pm
out there on the sea, I drown in a million kisses
I was dreaming that the waves were crashing
inside my head like green jelly on toast
I awoke on the shore like a message in a bottle
rising off the sandy floor next to eternity
to brush the stardust off of my ragged attire
like I was sleeping on this beach for centuries
I had stumbled from the ticky tacky hovels
along the blue distance of surf and surrealism
along the facades of time existing for ten minutes
I had been drunk on poetry in the dark alleys
looking for a fix of immortality between the pages
of a book of poems I found on the silver sidewalk
I had been dreaming of following a strange woman
through the dark passageways of a written landscape
I had fallen fast asleep next to a second hand typewriter
many years ago I followed the words like poets I met
in the paper dawn after writing all night about shadows
the little piles of days that filled my words with fire
the black cigarettes in the ashtray of creation still
smoldering in the ash of my forgetfulness, my desire
drifting up to the ceiling like long arms of mummies
unraveling their selves like Kerouac's benzedrine scroll
I had been awake for a month of cheap novel nightmares
reading never stop like a psychic detective in the mystery
of my becoming invisible slowly while the water dripped
in the sink and the bare watt bulb above my body flickered
I could see the blood in my veins flowing like the Nile river
could count my heart beats to the pounding of the type-
writer keys, my mind was a broken clock, ticking like
a anarchist bomb, my mind was a junkie waiting for the dealer
I was mainlining pure junk language I stole from my imagination
I was ready to go up to San Francisco to meet the word connection
I was dreaming that the waves were crashing
inside my head like green jelly on toast
I awoke on the shore like a message in a bottle
rising off the sandy floor next to eternity
to brush the stardust off of my ragged attire
like I was sleeping on this beach for centuries
I had stumbled from the ticky tacky hovels
along the blue distance of surf and surrealism
along the facades of time existing for ten minutes
I had been drunk on poetry in the dark alleys
looking for a fix of immortality between the pages
of a book of poems I found on the silver sidewalk
I had been dreaming of following a strange woman
through the dark passageways of a written landscape
I had fallen fast asleep next to a second hand typewriter
many years ago I followed the words like poets I met
in the paper dawn after writing all night about shadows
the little piles of days that filled my words with fire
the black cigarettes in the ashtray of creation still
smoldering in the ash of my forgetfulness, my desire
drifting up to the ceiling like long arms of mummies
unraveling their selves like Kerouac's benzedrine scroll
I had been awake for a month of cheap novel nightmares
reading never stop like a psychic detective in the mystery
of my becoming invisible slowly while the water dripped
in the sink and the bare watt bulb above my body flickered
I could see the blood in my veins flowing like the Nile river
could count my heart beats to the pounding of the type-
writer keys, my mind was a broken clock, ticking like
a anarchist bomb, my mind was a junkie waiting for the dealer
I was mainlining pure junk language I stole from my imagination
I was ready to go up to San Francisco to meet the word connection
