I said goodbye to my friends
and stepped outside
to smoke one last cigarette.
The chorus, "Tell me lies,
tell me sweet little lies,"
was playing in my head -
the windows displayed me
standing straight
in a long, black coat,
exhaling smoke.
Like the final scene of a television show.
I remember thinking
that was the point
when I put out my cigarette
and walked inside:
roll credits.
But the windows in the hall
were also reflecting me
and maybe that would be the final scene.
Getting into an elevator,
what could be more final than that
except, of course
for the long silent scene
of descending alone in an elevator.
What could be more lonely,
more poignant?
Surely you'll tune in again.
But then
there's always going into the dorm room
or sitting down at the computer
to type a poem.
No.
Far too interesting
for a proper fade out.
The last scene:
laying down in bed
eyes wide open
staring at the ceiling?
No matter what,
it seems like the credits would roll
before the part where
I
actually have to figure out
how to fall asleep.













Comments
--
I'd bury this pen into my veins.
or what I want me tobe.
--
Doing things right and good
Doing things the way we should
--
God doesn't have a plan.... But I bet he knows what he's doing.
That, and I felt you free your voice a little bit, and in some respects, with this poem, I finally "see" what you mean to say and do in poetry.
That's a compliment to you by the way. I'll explain, briefly.
You are a work in progress. I don't mean that in the cliche superficial outlook of a friend way either. You walk and talk of visions, grand. And they seem permanently in a suspended state of non-motion. Well, I see, in this poem, your maturing and expressive side finally getting the ball rolling in a direction. Any direction is ok at this point. It, moves, fluidly but with certain respect to a living breadth. (I use breadth even though I'm not sure of its legitimacy as a word.)
Human breadth. Of activity. So, it's a respect or with respect to the human experience, and not the broad human experience, the narrower the experience, the more gems therewithin.
--
"I've taken enough walks alone
to know how real nothing is."
~dystopian-dream-girl
--
"I've taken enough walks alone
to know how real nothing is."
~dystopian-dream-girl
Nobody has ever summed up what both hated and beautiful about me so well. This still applies strongly, the beginning of motion you saw is another suspended idea.
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