|Where was Miss Cleo?
Author: theCoffeeEnzyme PM
As usual, I have no confidence about my poetry. This poem is pretty different for me stylistically. Consider it a dramatic monologue. I am begging you for feedback.Rated: Fiction T - English - Words: 474 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 03-12-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2898303
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Where was Miss Cleo?
"I am a bowl of cereal, bran most probably,
a shell and that mighty shovel scooping and scraping
for that masticating mouth so clever, so adept
at devouring. I am shit, see? So, see here, we're
all what folks call normal, gray lost in crowds of more gray,
seems preternatural since
we're snowflakes or whatever,
but snow's no more than water
in an interesting shape
and you'll melt like the rest of
the plain people - wait and see
and normal wants the war. It's natural. The soul screams,
palms pressed on the glass of your chest, you'll feel the pressure
when you lay down for bed, hear it could be depression
and get a prescription for Prozac, but a gag just
keeps the lips from moving, not the throat from screaming. But
skyscrapers look impressive from a distance when you're
driving to a new city until you see the trash,
an unshaven man sleeping near a sewer cover
under newspaper advertising a decrease in
poverty and that iniquitous socialism.
but I suggest everyone
go hungry at least a day
because so many people
have no pity. Animals
and cancer victims need the
compassion, but your neighbor
is probably calling for
help and realizing that no
one cares at all - wait and see
So, see here, I've been witness to the war between the
soul and consumption and the soul always succumbs. What
worthless scum are we, so numb in these great wastes of space,
given eighty years to try a race we know has been
won ahead of time. I have been scraped clean and raw by
the machine I helped design and is now self aware
and I bought it. I bought it. I bought the hope, the pain,
and the positive prognosis, the media, the
news, the truth and lies, I bought the president and this
government, I bought my bed and I'm sleeping in it
and waking up screaming: I want to pull myself out
into an alley, put a gun between my eyes wide
open and paint the pavement with my expired brains.
My beard is long, my eyes carry bags heavy like brick,
I've learned to appreciate my headaches. We're lucky
to have such a great idea just once in our lives.
because the war cannot end
without bloodshed - wait and see"
I waited, watched my cigarette burn down
to my fingertips, and saw the hole in
my jeans, the scrape on my knee in a new
light - servitude? No. I'm just a college
kid. But who knows? That could be me. A short
twenty-two years and already I find
myself dissatisfied. So, see
here, maybe one day I'll just crack.
I'm kind of looking forward to it.