The Sound and the Fury

18 Jul

at midnight
the house shakes from the sound and the fury
of the storm
and i sit propped up in bed
with a bottle of cutty sark
and a black moleskine
and write out words in number two pencil.

since i picked up smoking again
my blood pressure has gone from good
to optimal.
(things usually run in opposites in my life)
good genes, i fear.
my uncle basil has been cranking 3 packs a day
since age 12 (he’s 74 now)
and he’s still around to pester my old man.
“will you tell the doctor about the deathsticks?”
i say, they’ll pull out a hair follicle and find out if they really
want to know.

i live a life interrupted.
stuck between three countries now.
waiting for something to go
one way or another.

be kind
be grateful
be altruistic
be sincere
do unto others

they put flesh upon the bone
and sometimes they stick a mind
and soul in there
but nights go on
and women throw plates at the walls
and men go insane over long legs
soft lips
wet tongues
and nobody finds anybody
but they all keep looking
crawling in and out of beds
taking side roads and alleys
making mistakes
the flesh searches
for more than flesh
we are alone
with everybody.

my little girl
is a pool of sun
travelling the length of the hallway
picking a flower from the front yard
she looks at me and sees only love
not a battle-hardened wreck of a man
fighting demons in midnight storms
i love right back
just like i was meant to.

two halves of one brain
two worlds collide
i can step back into the shadows
and trudge slowly through;
the pool of sun moves on
and i’m back into the underworld
joined by proust and faulkner
and bottles upon bottles

write us an anniversary poem, won’t you.
i take requests.
a cheap minstrel
going back to the street
after an art show.

tonight i am not alone.
i’m holed up in here with celine and hamsun
and bukowski and hemingway
and some strange spirits trapped in a green bottle.
we’re together looking out the window
at the magnificent light show on display;
it’s god snapping photos of the travesty that is mankind.
smile like you mean it.

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7 Responses to “The Sound and the Fury”

  1. Rachel 18/07/2007 at 2:17 PM #

    For some reason, this is what I needed to read today.

  2. Anonymous 18/07/2007 at 2:29 PM #

    I like this a lot. There’s just enough melancholy to make this work. A weird sense of contentment; like you’ve given up, but not given up. Doesn’t make sense, I know. I can’t explain. This is definitely a moody piece. That’s what you get for writing in the middle of the night.
    Jay

  3. slyboots2 18/07/2007 at 3:48 PM #

    This is what you get for drinking Cutty Sark. Pure swill, I tells ye. Opt for the Jack instead. Tasty, yes. Especially when you spring for the signature lots. Mmmmhmmm. Delicious.

    Funny- not a good sign that I just go for the potent potables for $500, Alex. What is early stages of alcoholism? Correct, missy!

    Here again, I crack myself up. Gotta get out more. Keep up the good stuff in the writing department, carry on. Wayward son. There’ll be peace when you get done. (heh heh heh)

  4. Lx 18/07/2007 at 5:04 PM #

    cutty is what the budget will allow at the moment. i’ve become much less discriminating since the bank account has shrunk. funny how that works.

    do you think there will be peace when i’m done? i hope so. it’s the only thing that keeps me going.

    Rachel, always happy to somehow oblige through writing, although not a fun mental state to be in, if that’s what you needed to-day. But so it goes.

  5. Anonymous 18/07/2007 at 5:07 PM #

    Wow great poem.

  6. Janete 20/07/2007 at 8:12 AM #

    I really love this poem, thank you.

  7. Lx 20/07/2007 at 9:53 AM #

    thanks janete.

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