IN THE MIDST OF ELBOWS AND ASSHOLES

IN THE MIDST OF ELBOWS AND ASSHOLES




I used to sit in coffee shops and write
Not because I had to
But because there is something about
The waist high view of the brew walk vibrations
Of those who need
And them that have
to sit for hours in this shit filled city and talk about themselves
Their next where to be
When the “big one’s” gonna come
their dog that wont stop pissing on the rug
.
.
.
The triumph
The triumph, then, was in the deliberate form of my pen against the paper
My thoughts always congruent with the run of the demon in my brain
The cast of poor hopeless bragging souls
Wanderlust and bound to the earth by their lack of imagination
Or individuality
Eventually found their way into my ink
And war
Or stooper
Or love song on the paper.

Eventually I stopped
And started writing at home
The elbows and kneecaps
And footsteps of strangers
Had filled my intestines
And my guts had had enough.
The play had been cast at the cattlecall inside me
And the production was neverending
Is evergrowing
The lights
The music
The curtain stayed open, waiting for the last word to be spoken
Waiting,
Always waiting for the music to cue the curtsy and bow and wild unbridled applause
.
.
.
I now write in solitude
I need peace
I need decaffeinated sanity of the brain
The triumph
The triumph is in the hush hush whir of the delicate tumbling
The memories
The knuckles
The bloodwraught war of the lovesong
Pulled out
By my need to write it all down
Before the “big one” takes me
And the triumph
The triumph
Now
Is
the wanderlust of souls
With their braggart hearts
Are
Still here
Making a run with the demon in my brain.


michaelxavier