How Lionel Richie Saved My Life

And it seems
that I cannot take anything from existence anymore
I have to force everything down my throat 
I can’t taste anything either
My taste buds are all dead
They’ve all committed suicide
This morning , they OD'd on boredom
My mouth says it wants to retire
It refuses to speak to anyone but myself
It’s tired white tongue
flaps helplessly in surrender
or sometimes ties itself in knots
In protest
But I try
I do
I try anyway
Because really hey,
What do I know?
I know
I think I see I feel and read and write
and work and drink and smoke
and eat and sleep and shit
eat more and inflate, get and high and deflate
get home late and masturbate
But still I regurgitate
this muck of envious green
It reeks of disappointment
resentment, and greed
and it confuses itself for confusion
Steaming confusion,when all it is, 
is desolation and shame and doubt
And what about what about what about me me me?
which of course is all just fear -planet-sized
Fear of death
Fear of nothingness
Fear of anonymity
This is the only thing I see
and feel and taste.
This stew from my growing belly
Bitter as my dinner
Half processed in my guts
A convolution of but but buts
Where are my guts anyway?
Have you seen them? Have you seen any guts lying around?
What happened to my audacity to actually
pretend and declare that what I have to say actually matters in the end???
Or at least before that end which is anytime now
and how, tell me how, did that bravado disappear?
Where is the hero that wrestled with sorrow and won?
Oh no no no that hero, no he’s not here anymore
He’s too sad, too mad, too crazy, too lazy
too proud to borrow hope from tomorrow
or the days after that.
Yes day’s refuse to matter these days
Because all I seem to be is matter
just matter
Homo Sapien matter
Twenty something
Angry matter
Does that even matter?
At all?
When in all in all-
All I am is living meat with an expiry date
of up to me
And really seriously,
I’m getting there.
But I still try
I do
I try anyway
I wake up in the morning, or whenever
I can.
I look for a solution
to this infection of anxiety
I remind myself of the novelty
of me, of this version of me at least
of this time of me at most
and say "Hello" to the mirror
I try to muster a smile
And of course it smiles back
when I do my best
I say "Hell'o Again
and squint my eyes to my face
as if the solution was anywhere there,
pretending there is actually one to look for
and all of sudden
that face in the mirror says
"Hello" back -
with the voice of Lionel Richie

Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?
of course!

Hello? It IS me I'm looking for!
And now I’m right here.

back to Poetry[2011]