This piece is in response to a
"wordle" exercise from a great site called Read Write Poem. An old (He's not old. Our friendship is) and talented author/singer/composer/poet/wanderer friend of mine,
Dave Jarecki turned me on to this site and you should definitely check
Readwritepoem.org out.
Anywho (that's right, I said it. I said "Anywho".) try it on for size.
Hot TodayThe closet door stands open
bathed in the light of the morning sun.
It's going to be hot today.
In your bed,
I am,
for a few moments,
bleary eyed
hung over
cotton mouthed.
Now that
the smell of beer and booze are nothing more than stale exhalations,
Now that
it's quiet and I can no longer taste your sweat on my tongue,
I wait for acuity to return.
I like to pretend
I am not one of the flaming lost.
That my disposition is not so sanguine
and my thoughts don't tend to loiter
in unsavory bars
and back alleys
where the real action seems to be.
I like to pretend
it's not so far from pretty
inside my pretty little head.
That it's not all simple mastication
verbal defecation
mental masturbation
a fucking Calligulan affair.
Stuck with words and ideas and
unrelenting
unrelentING
UNRELENTING
thoughts!
I like to pretend
that hearts are stout
and Faith doesn't slump
against the dank and moldy walls.
That my unions are
Communion
and it's not my God who's dead.
Perhaps I'll stage a seance
to find out how this all ends.
The closet door stands open
bathed in the light of the morning sun.
It's going to be hot today.
