Saturday, June 13, 2009

Eight Mile/Seven Hour Poem

Despite my body's plea for change, I ignore the routine of an early morning trot.
I am fully aware of the dangers of subjective judgement 
Here in this oddly misplaced age of neatly tied neck ties and symmetrically laced shoe strings,
But this God-given free will continues to have it's way.

I am greeted by the mid-afternoon breeze 
And the stench of rotting berries from a tree I've been trying to identify without much success
Even with the assistance of my literature on the flora and fauna of North America
I have the tendency to do nothing on days like this
You know, sluggish, warm, Do-Nothing days
But I will make most of this one as this hazy atmosphere is usually unappealing to me
But has grown resplendent in mine eye

The body is a machine, a mechanism He created with such delicacy
All the pieces packed compactly within a shell
Yes, a machine and machines operate on fuel
Peanut Butter on toast

Great, now we can begin
Public transportation is such a drag and I barely have enough room 
Between two large, odd regulars to think about the unutterable history
Between the number three line and myself

Three stops, two stops, my stop
Oh shit! MY stop!

Minding one's business is a philosophy taught to every youth
In every school yard across America
But I knew this girl from Anatomy & Physiology
God, how I dreaded that class
In all truth,  I find it completely farcical that I often end up
At the hindquarters of every dying discourse
But I assume it's because I'm always conscripting tiny banks of audacity or intestinal fortitude 
For efforts to make my words engaging.

We discuss old passions and what became of whom
I am surprised by a sudden selfishness as she informs me of those doing worse than myself
It makes me feel better about the fact that I am not as ambitious as I feel I should be
Again, selfishness
Tales of aborted love affairs and irresponsible thinking

Bidding farewell, I am late and there is a first time for everything
Breathless from choking down cigarettes, I climb the stairs
Today was a day for damning my existence, evaluating silent romances
And practicing brisk pragmatism

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