chisel

pre conditioned schleps walk like
oily
hair conditioner
through
this shadow that almost
resembles a life one would rather be numb too.
can read of lucidity, the un conscious they say,
am not Dante's inferno, not even an epic speller.
walk smoothly, search the shelves
get a free education with bookly world words
seeping flush, clean , cut paste. Take.
not baudelaire
or an algren with a golden arm
my fingernails peel off the stickers
on the tops of the books I bring home
to my sloshy lil troll cave every night
free- dumb- free -dumb-
what pain a fiddle
what man a crooked straw
a yodeler in valley mist mints
the wee hours
humid beyond sticky
tended to 4 quick drinks
on break with gal nacho
time clock.
if one never had watches
never had to worry about time
told her, then could feel free- dumb
pasty pork people with similar faces
we like to break beer bottles over people's heads
ok, I stole that part from the movie
yes, I told her, told her
that curfew were non existent
that she was getting a film education in life's broken wheel
no shaman pynchon book isak dinesen out of America can teach
aint no
catch 22
try and mumble sometimes
between sips of microscopic drunken hair balls
flying around my 3 am feeling smoke
straightening the pretty books
with hunched back
pain med gone, new ones found
ignore customers
silent seconds alone to think
over same ol epic conditon

This poem Copyright 2001 Nicholas Morgan.

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