bad blow
1.
what to write when nothing is right
i am not in the mood for poetry
can i write essays
how’s about prose
what about silly shit
or short stories
i am at odds with myself
where i am in life
who i have become
i feel like no one
i want to feel like
my anger and frustration
often more crippling
than the brokenness
of my bones
send me reeling
to the basement
the cellar of my soul
where i blow and blow
pretending to make music
but spit soaked notes
are the dissonance i emit
2.
how my clarinet playing sounds to my ears
tunes tendered by one in flames
songs sung by burnt flesh
spit soaked notes vibrating sour air
high pitched screeches of death
time wasted
an effort in futility
therapy gone awry
the making of a monster
a loose drivebelt
cliched finger nails on a chalkboard
guess i need to practice more
4 thoughts on "bad blow"
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Great title
1st part: brokenness of my bones, spit soaked notes
2nd: that’s some mean clarinet!
You inspire
Jim Lally-I appreciate the comment-I aspire, too, and sometimes feel i may expire blowing so hard, but sometimes things are so bad-like I try and I try and the masked air that I set free-leaves little listener disirability.
Jim Lally-I appreciate the comment-I aspire, too, and sometimes feel i may expire blowing so hard, but sometimes things are so bad-like I try and I try and the masked air that I set free-leaves little listener desirability.
I am impressed that you dared pick up an instrument long neglected and I love the fingernails on a chalkboard. Funny.