Watching TV in The City

 I actually wrote these over the last summer. I am starting to revisit some of the books I have filled up and at least start some preliminary editing. Stuff I post here is never really `finished` I just like to share things as they are happening.

Watching TV

Watching TV

Won`t get those feelings out

Stupid drunk girl

Stupid saboteu.

I need to know who my mother is,

to find out,

What`s wrong with me.

The City

It Rains.

Heavily.

But I have already described the rain
- heaving, unyielding –

maybe it`s nostogia,

maybe it`s romanticism,

but I sit in it,

wet, uneven and exposed,

and dry in inside.

This City is a blister on my foot.

I live here – so I must navigate it.

The rain dulls my pen,

as these words dull my senses.

I want to look out and fear nothing,

see everything.

Apples and blues, demons with holes for eyes, pigs in drag.

I want to know them.

I want to love them.

Wholly.

Equally.

Brothers.

But I fear them.

My arrogance twists and steals my clarity.

Self satisfaction.

How many times down this shit hole? Do you think?

Before I get it right?

But alas,

these are just words.

Empty and common.

Just like me,

I suppose.

And as for them?

I am drained.

I feel the weight of a million un-lived lives in my gut,

and the taste of hope of my tongue.

I want life,

but it alludes me,

like consciousness alludes a dog.

Can you blame him?

Night rolls in quick,

colder now.

Rain splashing in aggressive pellets.

All the mediocrity of my life,

rolling through my mind,

and I wonder.

Is anything different understood,

In the rain,

out at night,

alone?

Alone.

I`m cold.

And that at least has to stand,

for something.