Monday, November 26, 2012

The Graveyard.

Remember how I went off on a rant about how I hate going back to my "Graveyard" folder and looking through shitty old poems? Well, apparently I challenged myself. A double-dog-dare, if you will. Stupid me.

I took three of the poems that were in the The Graveyard and resurrected them. Just plunked all of them "as is" into one document and went to work. This is what happened. My own little Frankenpoem...not sure I love it, but I don't think I hate it.

I've titled it, "The Graveyard Revisited":

My broken pride drove me home this morning. The radio massaged into my brain
endless lines and lyrics of love songs, until my pain puked me into slumber.
Cuddled so close to nightmares of things I could have, would have, should have said.

But, you do not know how to operate a touch tone phone.
So instead, my confused confidence will hide out in what used to be your spot on the couch.
I'll keep sleeping on this couch. It'll keep warm from the tears that I should have stopped crying for boys when I was fourteen.
Why must I make myself wait for the phone call you and I both know isn't coming today.
Or tomorrow.

These dreams are itchy, scratchy, and don’t fit my body very well.
Watching my generation cheerfully become sedated by over the counters and
self medications.

Where we tally your lost loves by counting sexual partners.
Learning to live lives through weekly sitcom situations.
Setting our low standards by the cheap advertisements inside expensive magazines.

Walking aimlessly up and down the same old streets, searching for something,
someone,
new.
Anything to take away from the tedious task of trying
so
hard.

These sleepy eyes
veiled with thick lashes
hard to see my lies through this scope.

I can only make out the shape of it, but next to those shadows
lives the best kiss I’ve never had.
Definitely.
Maybe.
Yes, the best kiss I’ve never had but always knew I’d never get.
 



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