The daily repetition of mundayne tasks. (Consistency and security and enjoying simpler things)
Living from a bottle and a bag of grass. (Jovial drinker and relaxed smoker)
Searching for a thought with the lights turned down. (Ignorance is bliss)
Seven days a week in the same small town. (You wanna go where everyone knows your name)
I like the poem and it depicts hell clearly. But I thought I'd point out that hell is heaven as well, the only difference is perspective. To go a level even deeper, one must admit that neither hell nor heaven exists. It is only existence which exists, black and white, hot and cold, all of which are truth, but perception acting in the temporal realm decides whether it is black or it is is white, whether it is hot or it is cold. There are people who think they are trapped in hell, and others will say, "man, get your head on straight, you've got it all wrong. This is heaven." Both men are mistaken. Existence is meaningless and absurd and it is only that eventuality of complexity, consciousness, which gives rise to perception, the divider, the line maker, the deceiver.
Still great poem. Poems attempting to stick to objective truth, discarding perception, ignore the most important element which makes poetry so powerful, that human quality which sees the black and desires to define its blackness. One can also perceive the white and define its whiteness. The poet should absorb the nature of things and through language seek to communicate certain visceral qualities of these phenomena, whereas the philosopher eradicates the lines and accepts paradoxes in order to approach objective truth.
I have been awake for two days, and I am blurring lines. Philosophical poets, intuiting paradoxical natures and creating a poem with the purpose of uniting them in truth. I am making no sense.
