OLD  SOUL

An old jukebox is playing
Tom Waits as the smell of beer
And cigarette smoke
Permeates the bar
The patrons, the drinkers
Are old and now I am
Have, become one
Of them as
The days of light
Electricity & destruction
Punk rock & single living are now
Over & as the words take over
And possess the pen
As the ink transforms thoughts
Bourbon into
Something someone

Else

The unknown man
The unknown poet
Left with an old soul
Just writing a poem
In some dark place
Or darker corner
On napkins
Outside & behind the walls of
The always boring &
Casually observed
The popular &
Pop culture writers &
The 5-minute celebrities
Of the world
All supposedly living on
Some lost & lonely planet called

Earth

Where
I am no man
No memory
Or of any place
Or time
At all
Where I am merely the
Drunk priest in black who
The city sings to at night
And the sound that is
Beneath you
& beneath your
Howl your  heart & soul
The truth

That no one wants to
Hear or think about
Anymore

And I no longer have
A young man’s eyes  or
Some epic poem love or
An epiphany to share

And I don’t give a shit about
Your politics
Television or the news
Because as always
Death & history
Always repeat
And always remain

The same

Hand in hand

Forever

So I don’t pretend to be a
Prophet or
Something I am not
And I am not interested
In attempting to save the
World or
In creating the next great
Literary movement

Of fools

But for those of you
Who do?

Gee

That’s swell

But my gods
My muses
Still walk
Still dwell
Still scream
In another
Century

Who tell me
Whisper to me
That in the end of
All ends nothing is left
But your words
Your soul
Burned &
Weathered through
Ink blood & paper
The years &
The experience

Of time

Alone

And we
The poets
Are only
The dust
That remains
Behind

Another
Old soul
At the end
Of the world
At the end of
The bar

Writing for
No one anymore

But himself