38th Week of Poetry

July 17

 

Soaring pain

Snoring pain

It’s all the same

 

July 18

 

My eyes burn every night

Staring at this lonely old monolithic

Computer screen

My bones ache

My heart snores

How many more words must I make

to sing, to dance, to procreate

before the time is done

and I get to rest?

Before we ALL get to rest?

Even now, this monitor mocks me

These click-clacking keyboard keys haunt me

And it’ll be the same story tomorrow

And Tomorrow

And Tomorrow

And until this world comes into its petty pace

Life’s a game and all’s a stage and I’m just gonna keep

playing my part

until the chickens come home to roost

or the crows, as some may say.

 

July 19

 

How do I apologize

to myself

for not writing more

in this odd paradoxical moment of laziness?

Hmm?
Hmm.

July 20

 

My eyes can hear

My ears can see

Does any of this make sense to you

Or just me?

 

July 21

 

Light, what hither yonder breaks?

Why, it’s the poetics of young Ismael

A lonely hac

k who can’t cut it anymore

The life of a man who just doesn’t really know

what hither, yonder, thither, and all of that other crap

even means?

Am I right or am I right?

So, here’s to words

I guess I know how to use them

Even in these cycles of self-fulfilling poetry, yeah yeah yeah

Yeah.

 

July 22

 

Everybody’s looking for a hero

Whether a scientist or an artist or a model or some little teen bop pukester

But, who finds heroes in wrestling?

You’re reading the words of that person:

Most of all, I want to be like Rowdy Roddy Piper

To kick ass and chew bubblegum

and do things my way

With no quarter given

and none returned

Hell yeah

I want to be the first Ismael Santos,

and I have Rowdy Roddy Piper to thank for.

 

July 23

 

The Sound

of

Silence.

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