Survival

It’s raining as I stare out
at the five lane…
flipping my cigarette
I walk back into
solitary confinement
just in time to hear “Down In A Hole”
and I pick up my pen
to tell some more lies
about how fine life is
you know…all about
that brass ring I grabbed
all the while ignoring
the white knuckle grasp
I have on sanity

Have I done anything at all?
Did I move them?
Really groove ‘em
Leave them anything they could quote?
“If I wrote a song you could sing to your children,
will you remember my name…remember it then?”
“I knew I could make those people dance…”

we were there once upon a twilight evening,
blessed just to be alive…
If I could sing it to you,”
would it make a difference?

I could write a happy poem and
that would not change
the truth
of the stars
hiding
behind the clouds
nor the fact that we’ll all be
hidden away some day
by the men who wait right over the ridge
to put us in the warm earth
regardless of whether we changed the world
or just ripped it off
no matter how we
lived or died
this ends

There were two white gold rings
bought at Service Merchandise
in 1989
one lies under a hillside
beside a church in Inskip
the other
got too tight
quite a ways too tight…
I had to hide it away
what I never did with my love
but I am not sure that I ever learned
how to show it very well

When the time is done
and it is time to reflect
What did you add here?

Could you point it out to all?
or would you even need to

My life lives
in words
on a page

There’s a void between
what is and should be


but from all
the sources do
I rely
music owns my soul
I can’t hide it

I write because I can’t sing
I voice with my pen
because you can’t hear me
I’ve heard the debate
about how many muscles it takes to smile, but
that only matters to those
that have them all

It’s stopped raining now
and Jim Croce sings
“I Got A Name”
perfect
I walk outside for another smoke
and peer in vain
for the stars

Mike Carson
11-25-2008