Nietzche
Bluelighter
". . . and gestures boldly as he speaks of mobile homes, boats and acreage . . ."
and with eyes that howl a weary disdain
she announces with caution
an half hour respite from servitude
will be enjoyed
her face, presenting the stress compounded
over years of primal cries,
reveals – nothing
of her age but does offer glimpses of a past
brimming with life’s secret joys and sorrows
ingested in small, metered dosages
her home ought be found an interior time capsule
still housing the faded but antiseptically clean
decades old decorum of sofas and recliners worn and
borne of the weight that blistered soles
relinquish at [the] close of [her] day . . .
I’ve smoked too many cigarettes this morning
while sipping my coffee, picking at my last-minute breakfast
and
pressing with callous hands and poetic instinct
upon this pen
trying to capture on paper
the uniformed muse who serves coffee with toast and
a side of divine inspiration
“You’re a fine woman!”
The archetype cowboy-farmer of the modern age
[with green John Deer cap,
blue, green and pink plaid shirt,
blue work-jeans draped over the fresh smelling leather of this boots
and elaborately pressed belt upon which rests
a holstered cell phone, anticipating the imminent need to be quick-drawn]
informs my muse.
She is “on top of the coffee pot this morning.”
But he does not write with his inspiration
he eats his and gestures boldly as he speaks of mobile homes,
boats
and acreage
relishing the presence of his gap toothed
audience.
And I sit,
at his 3 o’clock, a table away
scribbling something in a note book . . .
[ 10 October 2002: Message edited by: Nietzche ]
and with eyes that howl a weary disdain
she announces with caution
an half hour respite from servitude
will be enjoyed
her face, presenting the stress compounded
over years of primal cries,
reveals – nothing
of her age but does offer glimpses of a past
brimming with life’s secret joys and sorrows
ingested in small, metered dosages
her home ought be found an interior time capsule
still housing the faded but antiseptically clean
decades old decorum of sofas and recliners worn and
borne of the weight that blistered soles
relinquish at [the] close of [her] day . . .
I’ve smoked too many cigarettes this morning
while sipping my coffee, picking at my last-minute breakfast
and
pressing with callous hands and poetic instinct
upon this pen
trying to capture on paper
the uniformed muse who serves coffee with toast and
a side of divine inspiration
“You’re a fine woman!”
The archetype cowboy-farmer of the modern age
[with green John Deer cap,
blue, green and pink plaid shirt,
blue work-jeans draped over the fresh smelling leather of this boots
and elaborately pressed belt upon which rests
a holstered cell phone, anticipating the imminent need to be quick-drawn]
informs my muse.
She is “on top of the coffee pot this morning.”
But he does not write with his inspiration
he eats his and gestures boldly as he speaks of mobile homes,
boats
and acreage
relishing the presence of his gap toothed
audience.
And I sit,
at his 3 o’clock, a table away
scribbling something in a note book . . .
[ 10 October 2002: Message edited by: Nietzche ]
