Poem # 1,2,3,4 I Don’t Like You (Curmudgeon Song)

i am what and where you are

when you fall out of a dream

into an everyday

where

you have to steal your first foot

forward,

through a world full of C.O.’s,

everyone out

for themselves,

still they insist on shaking hands,

with their mustache smiles,

flat-top faces,

eyes that perceive only

weakness,

guffawing as they drag your broken body

to the hole

where the overhead light stays lit

day and night

no matter how much toilet paper

you plaster over it…

in here

where

you never sleep

they will take advantage

of your befuddlement,

soliciting all the dreams you never had and forgot you didn’t,

a deal

they won’t let you resist,

so use the last of your

commissary

as down payment

and

put the rest on layaway,

get out on parole,

and top off the tank with 87

for though you may not be going far

you’re bound to repeat this

trip to

punch

the clock

for

another round

of

never-ending

drudgery,

you need the money

not for rent

but instant lotto tickets,

the only

hope

you can afford,

in a place

where you make earplugs

out of the cellophane of the sandwich

you got at lunch,

a desperate attempt to keep them out your head,

for they’re crawling out of corners

and

scuttling across the concrete-block walls,

and the next time you’re made to face the line-up

of emotional perpetrators

through that two-way mirror

you may recognize this weariness

of all things human

as the only

wisdom

you’ve ever known

A.M.

(Drugs and Culture)

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