To the Artist's Page     To our home page

To Sean Underwood's next piece

overture in c flat

alas, i’ve been here before
in this poem i mean
it’s a repeat of a thousand others
about me feeling out of place
and left alone
awkward
me me me me meeeeee
a cappella

i’m normal
i am…see, watch
ten fingers
ten toes
synapses properly gapped
calibrated
all that bullshit and whatnot

a few years have passed and i’m in the same boat
growing barnacles
same ill will towards the sea of humanity 
and doubting the thousands of fish in love
really, nothing much has changed
except for a few more books 
a couple more pounds
some twenty-odd mind altering concepts
and a stronger vocabulary
a steady concept focused in creature of habit

one of those Norman Rockwell snap shots
dog included
it’s hard sometimes
to look at a girl 
without thinking of marriage kids bills two cars a doorbell and a working fridge 
the dog
random points of excitement 
notability

a smile from across the room
duly noted
a conversation gone on a bit too long
a brush of the hand 
that surge of electric pheromone
coursing through my burnt out olfactory districts
the wonderment at how her eyes catch mine
of seeing her morning face for the first time
of pushing my morning hard-on against her soft warm ass
she pushes back
elation
track number eleven elation
that perfect obscure beat
that hits every note with resonant perfection

over and over and over again
like a great rising crescendo
that always has to come to an end
denouement

splayed out like so much anticipated departure
i ask myself if i’m the cowbell or the kettledrum
i ask myself if i’m the recorder or the flute
i ask myself if i’m the vibraphone or the pipe organ 
a simple good time charley bang or 
a swooning undertone that the whole song surrounds?

i can see the end from the moment we’re struck
i can see that i will tire of you within four beats
i can take it or leave it quicker than a spiraling jet
i too can look in a mirror and be in love or be disgusted
walk with a cadence of confidence
saunter in soliloquy
realization

wallow in rifts and 
stomp down bridges
mark time in a company front
let that spotlight shine
dilation

let your plume be you
hang it on the line hot shot
let your blood test speak testament
answer to the centrifuge of the methodical pretense
forensic psychology is a thought
paranoia

pubic hairs in the drain 
lifts of dead skin from the razor
bruises from beats
auto-erotic 
asphyxiation

To the top of this page