That the hero's alter-ego throws himself off the top stage
And dies a horrible death, face down in the fake concrete
Skull crushed to oblivion for nothing more than the love
Of the box office.
Or is it the girl whose name is on your breath?
Or is it the woman whose house burns continually
And kills her, eventually, or the wife whose shower
Runs continually, who is never there for you to clean
But you clean, anyway, and sleep in the walk in
Hoping to avoid the disaster that is imminent
He cries, before he takes his deadly doppleganger plunge
"You don't see other people! You only care about yourself!"
Or something like that.
Where does that take us? What are we to say to such
A suicide plunge?
How do you feel about yourself these days?
Have your noticed skin lesions? Strange moles?
How are your bowel movements?
But it is all fine, because the hero survies
The hero moves on in his existence of me and me
And just a little bit of you
Until the little voice in his ear says
So you will die, earpiece in place,
And worms won't even consume
The last little bit of you sealed up
In some steel coffin.
Your pills will take care of the
You remain, just as you are
Just as empty
Just as tiny
Funny but I've gradually been watching Synendoche, New York, meaning it's on my Watch Instantly queue on Netflix queue. I watch until my brain explodes, digest then watch a little more.ReplyDelete
Your poem helps.
So much for the comment made in the middle of the night.ReplyDelete
I tell you what, this is a good one!
This is awesome. Awesome--sounds like such a trite word to describe poetry. Still...awesome. I love it.ReplyDelete
Love this image: "So you will die, earpiece in place" and the whole finish from here especially the concretization in the last stanza. Good stuff indeed.ReplyDelete