Mind Stuck

mind stuck,

 

caught in

a place that the Coen

brothers and the Davids,

Lynch and Cronenberg,

say is just a stop-over

at the start of the

descent into death,

despair and darkness,

 

still feeling

like a record caught

on seventy-eight

belching out

Eastern European

spoken word,

 

the edge of the world

is the dark place for sure,

be it Bratislava or Santa Barbara,

 

hunched over some ancient

ancestor of the Selectric

like Barton Fink, the

bathroom sink,

but stuck in a rut

not feeling the

muse electric.

 

a Bismarck in Bismarck,

rudder shot out from underneath

leaving him in Cary Grant’s

direction, north by northwest,

 

but he’s at a right angle away

in an apartment listening to a

rambling ode about old clocks

with swinging pendulums,

 

regulating time,

 

regulating life,

 

and the Orange Crush

begs his spine to be

bent away from scoliosis,

 

but his spine is fine,

 

just his Prozac-tempered

and melancholy-addled

mind is in deterioration

like a real spine

poisoned by

water laced

with chromium six.

 

and he begs the

insurance man

with the penchant

for head removal

to point the

double-barrel,

break-action,

twenty-gauge

between the eyes

and pull the trigger,

 

twice even.

 

maybe then heaven

could exist, and he’d

sit on a beach

next to a hot girl,

 

well-endowed hopefully,

 

and they copulate

madly until the

cows come home.

 

but with the mind

stuck in mutual,

neutral darkness

and starkness,

 

why leave it at all?

Reviews

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

you drive the anvil deep into the dark matter of depression with extraordinary poetic thorns edging the bloom~