The Dead Man’s Waltz
Put down my suitcase and strap my arm in that chain.
I’ll grab the spoon of cooked candy,
Whose juices run from the silver
to the syringe
into my Red Sea.
Moses isn’t here to part the waters.
Candy stands tall, her toes lining the prickly end
She’s about to plunge, dive into the stream.
I give her a push, let her in
Familiarity. Relief. Euphoria.
Ah—
My head weighs me down, it
Falls slowly, magnetized to the white rug.
The room spins and my vision
Spins back.
I see blurs of faded faces I don’t even care about
Don’t care about anything, really
Except how **** great my mind and body feel, tingling.
Words can never really describe this feeling.
Oh, but they try
They do try
I try.
And yet—
I’m speechless.
Utterly speechless,
Unconscious on this ***** excuse of a carpet.
How did I get here?
Rather, why can’t I live up to known callings?
Now I only dream of past roles,
Roles once pure that are now washed away.
I fear.
The let-down leader shouldn’t be left questioning what’s right.
But here I lay. A troubled sheep
Who knows the way
And yet—
Where is the gatekeeper of truth?
Because I’d like a word.
With that, the Earth brings me a
thin gold stream, radiating from the ceiling
so bright, so pulling, surreal.
Reach out my hand and feel it shaking
Its droning siren sounds louder and louder, the light
Reels me in from inside,
I squeeze my eyes shut, turn and retreat
Back to the pillow.
I’m not ready to confront it.
Like a false light, trick candle,
It might not have taken me then—
Bad spirit’ll seize me one day,
And I still don’t know if I’ll be ready.
I digest the bedroom happenings—
Turn to the bedside, whip out my suitcase.
Go back to what feels good,
Let’s take another swim.
Skinny-dipping. I go through the known drill
No wonder so many people get caught up in this,
Abusive love affairs with Candy.
My last dance with dope.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:25 PM UTC
The Dead Man’s Waltz
Put down my suitcase and strap my arm in that chain.
I’ll grab the spoon of cooked candy,
Whose juices run from the silver
to the syringe
into my Red Sea.
Moses isn’t here to part the waters.
Candy stands tall, her toes lining the prickly end
She’s about to plunge, dive into the stream.
I give her a push, let her in
Familiarity. Relief. Euphoria.
Ah—
My head weighs me down, it
Falls slowly, magnetized to the white rug.
The room spins and my vision
Spins back.
I see blurs of faded faces I don’t even care about
Don’t care about anything, really
Except how **** great my mind and body feel, tingling.
Words can never really describe this feeling.
Oh, but they try
They do try
I try.
And yet—
I’m speechless.
Utterly speechless,
Unconscious on this ***** excuse of a carpet.
How did I get here?
Rather, why can’t I live up to known callings?
Now I only dream of past roles,
Roles once pure that are now washed away.
I fear.
The let-down leader shouldn’t be left questioning what’s right.
But here I lay. A troubled sheep
Who knows the way
And yet—
Where is the gatekeeper of truth?
Because I’d like a word.
With that, the Earth brings me a
thin gold stream, radiating from the ceiling
so bright, so pulling, surreal.
Reach out my hand and feel it shaking
Its droning siren sounds louder and louder, the light
Reels me in from inside,
I squeeze my eyes shut, turn and retreat
Back to the pillow.
I’m not ready to confront it.
Like a false light, trick candle,
It might not have taken me then—
Bad spirit’ll seize me one day,
And I still don’t know if I’ll be ready.
I digest the bedroom happenings—
Turn to the bedside, whip out my suitcase.
Go back to what feels good,
Let’s take another swim.
Skinny-dipping. I go through the known drill
No wonder so many people get caught up in this,
Abusive love affairs with Candy.
My last dance with dope.
Request permission to use this poem