Tyler Comstock


Warp - Poem by Tyler Comstock

I’ve been analyzing the world into pieces, and it’s left me
In pawn shop price tag meltdown mode
Categorization of my dusty anus personality filled world
Divided into fraction of the price bargains
By this Jewish bastard clerk, but no matter the price
I’ve decided I must pawn ways with all the treasures of my life

A class ring, a silver confirmation cross, they didn’t matter
Neither did the television or laptop, gifts from my mother
An investment in her only to go to college
Liquidated into gas, and gas station burrito money
Into promises of at least seven states away.

Money liquidates all physical items, it’s easy
It’s the extermination of people, and places
That proves difficult, weighing their value in my hand,
My heart serves as a scale, keeps in balance the weight
Of bearing a memory, over the price of brain space.


So I keep worthy souls, and the golden memories,
I can’t see them all go; the friends, the lovers, the area codes
I must consolidate them into read only files, unchangeable
In the guest room of my heart, now their permanent residence
Three pillows a person, breakfast in bed for them
Life will be good; time will treat their frozen faces well

As for the others, the hunks of hardening shit that filled
The cracks in my life, with fecal matter carbon, I know.
That I will label them stale, doomed, bleached of character
Deleted files, and faces, .exe files of my Dura matter hard drive
Or tainted victims of my own foul opinion.
Erased by the pink end of a Ticonderoga, black shavings,
Empty spaces where their fragile silhouettes were
Cleaned their shitty souls with industrial bleach.

It’s nothing personal.
It’s just that I’ve fell in love with this undying fascination
Of what was elsewhere and what’s replacing it now.
And in order to move, to place one foot in front
I’ve got to lighten the load in my mind, and they are at large
Because, God, when the future looks rather dull
All you can take comfort in is the unknown,
The lone hope that somewhere, someone
Can have a good life, and if I can’t,
I will die trying.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, May 7, 2010



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