Poetry by Joseph Grant

neurasthenia

skitter the beat road in front of you

new jersey is suicide baybe, suicide!

when all is said and done

no one sins like you any more.

it’s a liar’s town this fucking place

time is a wasted ghost

we follow home most.

and life is the first slap

experienced in pain

one long line of endless dream

ripped down the middle

in a nightmare of waking screams.

Abandon your cities!

morning clings like death ‘round here

desperation grows in the trees

why the light disturbs the sleeping

embers of nightly delusions

was a mystery to me.

and all the world’s eyes

gathered together in a storm

violence in the hands of others

and hurts from the hates of lovers

lighting the lightning in her kiss

rumbles of indifference.

there was something secret

within her

black and bright, shining like the midnight sun

she loved him once but held onto him for too long

and it grew to poison the well

we had built together

and soon there will be nothing more to tell

but she will still compare me to him

so when we get there, I will divulge nothing

and we will just sit and watch the walls swim.

empty tank

wasting on the maggot-strewn carcass

of another 8 day blistering binge

dying under the cold sun while snakes

slither in the sand beneath my skin

crucified on the blood-stained hood of a 68Ford

the paint’s been sunblasted boneclean

it is easter, there will be no resurrection

for this philistine.

the dead world calls to me, alone I will travel

just a tumble along the road to an ignoble

fifth a day blind, running, stumbling crash

what a place to run out of gas

I suppose people die out here, I tell the girl

drank all my liquor, now sunmad and Bukowski gone

wandering in the desert, seeking death

and the mind of the steady blue stone cold

lost without a face or a name heading towards an endless horizon

it doesn’t really matter what direction you take out here

it only matters what road you’ve been on

in the end, we’re all just continental drifters

getting poisoned by the sun.

and my mind races back to the time before

I had to run

with me in a shitty motel room, my last 20

drying out, did all the pills I had

another girl and a loaded gun

slowly going mad.

Writer’s Prayer

Our Faulkner!

Whose art is Hemingway’s

Hallowed be they fame

On earth

As it is in Paris.

Give us this day

Our daily words

And forgive us our lawsuits

as we forgive those

who plagiarize against us

And lead us not

into apathy

but deliver us from

‘literary critics’.

Amen.

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2 responses to “Poetry by Joseph Grant

  1. Well writ, sir! Bravo! I think I’m going to print “Writer’s Prayer”, frame it, and stick on my office wall! Way to go, Joe!

  2. I loved this one! I will give to my sister – she is an English teacher and poetry is her thing. wonderfully written.

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