Friday, November 16, 2012

George on Piano

Young George on
ends never ending
off my ear
off my ears
wailing telling clock
all hours of the
lulling green masterpiece
of shouldered dilemma
bitter misting Christ
in heaven scowling--

a child crosses the street
onto 19th
tinged with bleeding
ideas in the nigh
gone gone pink of the coming
Saturday morning
night, that's dark and seems to
last forever until Sunday
and hangover football--

I'm talking but not there yet
and the moment is scoffing,
saying-- some idiotic
trivial god awful thing--

the commercial screams
pulling me out
righting my head--almost had it--
but for trimming the jagged edges
to erode my dream

I am a tool without cells
moving forward unwillingly into the unknown
I am a tomb ever gnawing at
my own walls

George doesn't have a care in the world
he keeps tapping--content in the past
with the dead--

1 comment:

  1. I really dug the rhymes you tucked in here. This combination was especially good:

    "the moment is scoffing,
    saying-- some idiotic
    trivial god awful thing"

    I got a sense of fighting the world from inside our own heads, a cognitive dissonance that won't evolve or die.