We need a Celine/Miller/Kerouac/Bukowski/type for this time and place. I've chosen myself for the job. What did the man say? No guts no glory? So writing poems from the gut will do. And my star is rising...

Friday, February 04, 2005

stuck on pause

the rolling thick
enthralling dark
can become the
standstill thin
mediocre and pedestrian
dark
what to do then?
the night was suppossed
to be all fun and sunshine
as paradoxical as it might sound
but the night is standing still
and there is laundry to do
and dishes to clean
the writer on television
said the trick is to not become
too affected by outside influences
firstly and secondly to
not imitate yourself and how
you know you could sound did sound
when you were writing w/ fire
and verve...
if he was talking to me he
would have been over-estimating me to
begin with!
I'd settle for a small flame...
a dark-eyed woman
a bottle of beer
the right song
something, anything!...
so as time stops
on a slow dutiful night
and eternity was suppossed to open
up white lotus blossoming consciousness from the crown of
the head and such
it seems instead that
time has just stopped

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