ASTHENIA
“Tell me, tell me,
tell me what bothers you.
Tell me what’s on
your mind…what’s on the mind.”
“Well, every
fucking thing about this life.
The good things
that came to me today, all the beauty
at the end of the
day that’s all very nice
but tomorrow, what
do I get? Bad shit? Maybe.”
I am talking to myself walking through a construction
field
and I’m not even drunk.
Fear and anguish
and anguish and anguish.
I can think of a
thousand places and recall a thousand moments
haunting and
daunting or pleasing and appeasing like a motherly kiss
but I’m stuck in
this one and I don’t have time to ponder,
only time to wonder
about worthless shit
when my thoughts
wander like a beat hermit on dystopian gravel
carried by
calloused feet.
Now, on my left
hand let pages get heavy
behind my glasses,
my eyes get weary.
Let a good book
settle inside me
like a good full
moon settles in the sky
and keeps you from
sleeping but you’re not completely awake
…just drowsy
and you take time
to stare at that moon
outside the window,
between buildings.
Now get stoked on
that moon,
get stoked on a
sunset between buildings
or on a new song
you dig
or an old song you
dig, til you get sick of it.
On a pretty girl’s
high heels
get stoked on that
skirt she probably wears
for a worthy
occasion.
Imagine her skin,
how you would caress it.
Calloused fingers
on that
beauty-products-soaked skin.
Well, as for me,
I’m an astronaut
and I take notes. I
float.
above parking lots
and cemeteries
above parking lots
that look like cemeteries.
right above all the
heads on the train platform
whose ears buzz
from the suitcases, dragging.
Above lines of
people, crosses of gold…
but I see a crowd
at a show, dancing
so I start
descending…
Standing in front
of the stage I stare at the bassist.
I look at her
fingers lit by blue lights
at the veins on her
hands and knuckles, dilated by the heat
they make her not
so doll-like, more real.
These womanly
fingers stroke the strings, make music.
Drops of beer are
being spilled at my feet.
Later, outside, I’m
looking for a nihilist kiss
a kiss to get me
out of this, this feeling,
cause I got no
pills on me,
only jelly beans.
I only have jelly
beans in my pocket, like a kid. I eat the mouthful
and chew on it but
I’m looking for a nihilist kiss.
A hand strokes my
head and this girl I know sits next to me
I might get it,
this kiss.
Clear up my
thoughts
see one thing at a
time, unlike the eyes of a fly.
But among these
people, this intact bubble on white gravel
I’m on the outside
looking in
like when I talk to
myself, walking through a construction field.
(the band is the Dum Dum Girls and you should listen to them cause theyre great.)
