The Discouraging Word
Alone
in the world with little grub
out of numbers, even zero,
and odd that rain now spits
on the never enough where
someone is left under leftovers
and someone sinks below
from a blow to the head – hard
right to the lasting lust found
between the legs of what
might have been. Was it
Zee-sight at 18 or simply
mistaken as a skinny old
81 with Miss Taken like Miss
Universe on the verge
of nothing?
3 a.m. maybe for Mauve &
Naive minus eight little grubby
fingers: Last Out turns off
the light of tomorrow, “so
sorry over your stillborn sorrow”
6 thoughts on "The Discouraging Word"
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Wow Jim, I’m not sure I get a single solitary line yet but I’m certain I get the punch of the whole poem. You are flying in high timber man, Mr. quite man, taking notes. Do you detect a sense of envy. Yes, I wish I could write just like this!
Such a feeling of discouragement throughout. Everything is to the left of the number line in this. Really good.
Love the last three lines
“Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,
Where the dear and the antelope play;
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
And the skies are not cloudy all day…”
I got the even/odd left/right but in the timbre of the poem, it isn’t odd that the rain spits on the never enough.
Does minus need a plus?
brilliant