melted snow crawls at a snails
pace down his threadless, stinking
brown work boots
unwittingly imitating his
brain waves. zigzagging through
the senseless rubber maze
of a sleeping heel and reaching
his own dead end on loose floorboards,
it adds a new continent
to the puddle made from tears and
other things that have formed like a
moist waste land over three years.
occasionally he is sure that the
shrill voiced neighbor downstairs
who complains loudly about the
noise is his daughter. who else,
after all, could care enough to
wake him up. never having the energy
to go and find out, he will forget.
this will not matter, since she is 85
and was put in a nursing home
last night, no relation.
none of thie may ever matter,
since downtown his dreams
are on sale for 50 cents a can.
Outstanding John. I concur with Wendy. Thank you so much for putting your work on this site. I can see, from this piece alone, that you are a force to be reckoned with. Anyone who can drag out meaning with such a skillfull use of words and spacing is a real artist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you stay away from cliches-to me this is the piece with the most original images and the strongest human content. I would fine tune a bit, but I think I'm imposing my own editing skills and personality-. A fine write.