poem: not another night alone

these times of year are desperate, are

lonely they are spider traps i can’t

talk myself out of, when it is midnight

and the depression is so repressed

that pulling it out

is de-evolution, fundamentally re-volting

to this grand new person i (almost)

am. where are the stars at 2 p.m.? i suppose

chopin could tell you, his piano live-wire

in my head, his notes smoggy and impressionistic,

too dense to hear

screaming, taxi horns, gun-shots,

men returning, men leaving, or the downfall

of western civilization.

i am not alone, not

terribly enlightened. i just can’t hear you: i’ve cut

off my ears, recycled them, made them

poetry, made them immortal.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s