Before I write a poem

I have these swirling

inarticulate

emotions

like sperm

trying to find an egg

but I keep losing it

wasted

like a sexual dream

forever stuck

unable to climax

into creativity

lost thoughts

lost energy

bad feelings

cloud my mind

I don’t know what’s worse

having ideas

and forgetting them

or having no ideas

at all

my creativity shoots

into oblivion

and dies before it’s born.

If you can’t climax, in life

what’s the point?

Most everything

is swirling

underground

like a raging river

redirected

by ridiculous rules

You see it, on the road

You see it, on the news

You see it, on expressionless faces

they know

happiness

or

anger

Nothing, in-between

All the feelings

are numb

from TV

and

the same frequency.

It’s enough

to want to eject

this life

like a grainy VHS Tape

I’ll pull-out the black stuff

and toss the tape

all over the floor

cut it

crumple it

burn it

start over

committing to a bad film

committing to a car

committing to a house, a spouse, children

committing adultery

committing suicide

I think about a way out

I won’t tell you which one appeals to me

I stood in line at 9 PM last night

in clothes

too tight

My job is making me fat

Eating is the only pleasure I have

when I can’t climax

with the poem.

There I was

a woman came up from behind

“I’m with him,” she said.

I spotted him

tall, 55, but looking, 65

alcohol belly

protruding

from a washed-out

polo shirt.

“I found this wine on sale; it’s half price,” she said.

“I don’t want it; put it back,” he yelled.

She shoved it next to his other stuff

then added four or five more bottles

they exchanged words

until he gave up

She won

she had a bigger belly

a pink bald spot

on her blonde head.

Women always win

the only way to win

is not to play the game.

I walked out to my car

she was still talking to him

No wonder he drank

no wonder she drank.

Listening and talking

when you don’t want to

is worse than a year of silence.

A vow of silence

is beautiful.

If you’re trapped

all you can think about is

escaping, into imagination, death, or

the sun

shining through the window.

I was a genius

when I was young

I skipped school

every chance

I got

and I climaxed

often.

Now life is happiness and anger

and I’m trying to rediscover

my emotions

in-between.

4 thoughts on “Before I write a poem…

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