This is actually something I forgot that I wrote. It’s terrible, of course, as all my poetry tends to be and I feel bad even calling it poetry. A few day ago, it must be a week or two by now surely, I wrote a short story called The Desperate Light in one night. I also wrote this little stanza type thing at the same time. It’s terrible, and I know it is, but I’ve been too busy and not at all inspired enough to write any more short stories since then, so here’s the mad ramblings of literary accompaniment!
The sea’s quiet tonight, and so is the sand.
The city’s in the dark, and my hand’s in my hand.
The baby’s crying in the passenger seat,
and I’m counting my copper’s, for something to eat.
The moon’s made of gold and worth more than me,
and I’m jealous of the water, running wild and free.
I wish alive, now I wish I was dead,
now I wish I had something else, runnin’ through my head.
I’ve drank myself to death a few hundred times,
but I wake up in the morning, and the sun still fuckin’ shines,
on my twitchin’ lungs, an’ on my yellowing teeth,
on the crow on my chest, an’ on the silence beneath.
I lie down in the dust and I wait for the sea,
to come and wash up on the land, and wash over me,
to lose myself in dreams, in the silence that comes,
and the silence I breathe, and the silence that numbs.
And there’s salt in my eyes just a-blocking the sight,
and I find myself praying for the desperate light.