Monday, December 08, 2014

not Ginsberg’s fault

by Roberto Lavidez

I’m an
old man
now
and a
lonesome
man
in Kansas
but not
afraid to
speak my
lonesomeness
in a car
life seems
a passage
between
two doors
to the
darkness
hopeless
the poems
of Dante
and
Shakespeare
such stuff
as dreams
are made of
millions of
babies
watching
the skies
bellies
swollen
with big
round eyes
ah!
together
ah!
make peace!
ah what is
this lightness
that we know
body empty
and the mind
just a lot
of words
and propaganda
I been
spreading
getting
scared of
my own
bullshit
too tired
to go out
for a walk
too tired
to end
the war
too tired
to save
body
too tired
to be
heroic
we all
drop
myself
the poet
aging
on the
stool
how fix
a broken
leg?
ease a
heart attack?
deliver
a baby?
breathe in
the mouth
of a man
dying at
oceanside?
I write
poetry
because
I suffer
confusion
not knowing
what other
people
think
it’s everybody’s
fault
but me
I didn’t
do it
I didn’t
start the
universe
the death
of consciousness
is terrible
and yet!
when all
is ended
what regret?
I always
wanted
I always
wanted
to return
to the body
where I
was born
only return
of thought
to its
source
will
complete
thought
consciousness
changes
nightly
dreams
flower new
universes
in brainy
skulls

©robertolavidez2014  













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