'Sage Francis' Concert.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
True story.

Submitted: April 01, 2008

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Submitted: April 01, 2008



The city wears its chaos with the most naïve eyes
as I stand in the middle, outside of the parking lot garage.
I light my cigarette the way I usually do when I’ve had too much to drink;
my thoughts are held captive to my eyelashes and disappear every time I blink.

There’s a couple down the street that are laughing;
laughing like their tongues are long lasting,
plastic wrapped compartments
of old greeting cards, kept up a shirt sleeve
to play the comic relief
when conversations of tragedy rise to the surface.
I purposely walked down the street to avoid conversations like that.

I’m a good person who adapts to bad habits;
neurotic in finding comfort in the most uninhabitable places,
like a cowardly poet who keeps all their words locked in untraceable suitcases.
This weather makes it hard but regardless of the heat,
I wear my mistakes like a sweater in sinister rivalry.

There’s a man down the block who’s settled into bad news,
his possessions in an open box and his life worn beneath his shoes.
I pour open my pockets and give him all I have
in exchange for his words, he tells me,
"Don’t let the bottle infect the smile that makes you laugh."


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