i’m writing poetry through jaded eyes
sitting on the floor staring at a dimmed down screen
on a broken down computer that
reminds me of one of those
as-is cars you find in a lot
–
i’m propped against the wall
naked
ass digging into the beige shag carpeting
in a town that belongs to the old
–
i’ve slept most all day
recuperating from a week that never seemed to end
living on hope which
i assure others had long ago taken flight
–
i got an email when i awoke
from one of the many applications i’d been sending out
informing me they’re appreciative of my interest but
they’ve decided to go in another direction
–
i contemplate the merits of just quitting and
living on the streets
become another millenial beat down
kerouac proxy
–
maybe then i’d find my tristessa
sprawled out in butterfly beauty
aching for love
in a new mexico rest stop
–
maybe howl in madness
as ginsberg did
angry and distressed at
the world and its inconsistencies
–
or burrow into isolation
become a junky
shedding light on the industry
while dining on naked lunch
–
moreso though
i want to be me
–
i want my voice to be heard above the cacophony
i want it to be heard in the minds of readers
who felt alone
discarded
–
i want them to find something positive
through my negative words and experiences
knowing they
will make it through
–
i want to be honest
like the beats
exposing truth as i see it
conveyed through my words
–
maybe we don’t all need to hop a train
binge drugs sex and alcohol
plant ourselves in a city far from home
to find it
–
maybe
simply
what we need is time for ourselves
to seek what we’re missing
and
find it