right now i lay and peck these letters
my cigarette in it's position
no sound tonight the smoke through my nose now
i feel the nicotine
my hand through my hair
staring at this screen now
still silent. no one but me here now
but i'm dead. i only have this suspicion that i am alive
just as alive as i was in 1966
i try to snap out of it
i still breathe in and out
i move and see things
i am in america
there is a television in the corner
it is as turned off as i am.
fireworks don't thrill me anymore
new guinea natives jumping off vines
shows about jellyfish
world war 2
i hear the furnace kick in
i roll another cigarette it's 3 AM
where's a town crier when you need one?
maybe that would snap me out of it
'it's 3 o'clock and all's well'
i wonder if they did it at that hour
too bad i can't go back in time and find out
too bad can't go back in time
anytime but now.
now i'll just curl up and dream about living in my box
all alone like now
i have barbed wire to keep you out
and books and batteries
and guns, liquor, and food
extra can openers
blankets and toothpaste
clean socks and swiss army knives
cigarettes and duct tape.
i'm back in the womb.
womb and tomb.
funny how they rhyme.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.