The Waiting Game
when you depend on yourself
for stimulation
it's gets
damn difficult
a semester now of being done
w/ textbooks & intellectual
masturbation
dusty library crevices
coffee & literary chit-chat &
you run into a friend at a bar:
"I'm movin' out of Arkansas, man!"
"What're your plans?"
"I applied at Brown and San Fran State."
"That's awesome, man!"
"What about you?"
"Shippin' out with the Peace Corps."
& suddenly you get religious
praying northward that your single-
basket eggs won't cracksplatter
all over that hipster shirt
(your friend prays too)
your mind's become a spatula
flipping winter days over to spring
when your plans fructify
it'll all be gold, baby
quit smoking
keep reading and writing
go to Siberia
it'll all be gold, baby
back for the master's
handshakes with friends
sweet golden
coitus
but you can't deny
how the meantime is
so
fucking
pyritic
first of all. i bet i could stimulate you. (zing!)
ReplyDeletesecondly, i miss you.
thirdly, i love the rhythm and voice of this poem. are you coming into your own?
I'm trying, man. I'm trying.
ReplyDeleteCall me ANYTIME. I've got an idea for you.