Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I was standing on a bridge
the other day
looking down at the water
below and wondering
if it was the impact
that would kill me
or if I would drown
thinking about how
nothing ever works out
and that knowing my god damn
luck I'd probably hit a boat
and it would be someone
I knew, in High School
and they'd say
what the Hell happened to you,
man, you used to be,
and I'd be lying on their boat
injured but alive
and looking at the under side
of the bridge and begging God
to let it begin
let it begin
please let that mother fucking bridge
be the first to fall
on top of me
and let it crush
my High School friend
and their Society Boat
let us pay the cost
of all the world' sins
to an out of chic
figurehead God
whose Art remains
a mystery
just as he remains
in Heaven.

I couldn't tell you
if I wanted to jump or not.

I don't know myself
these days
what goes on inside
all I can say
is that it's real quiet
each thought hidden
a needle in a barn
of cotton balls
an amputee monk in a forest
a tear
that one
which fell from my eye
over the edge
and showed me the way
down if I only had the courage
to jump
(no longer
if I only had the courage
to not).

But I never followed
that drop
walked on home
down tree lined streets
by mothers with prams
and fathers playing cricket
whose sons waved at me
as I waved back
a normal guy
(a rhyming word goes here)
stopping by the pub
for a couple
"not much, you?"
telling no one
and drinking heavy
of the sorrow
which came
with the 
of my tear.

1 comment:

  1. May it never let up in Hell, amigo because it will rob the rest of us of something fine.

    Reminds me of The Bridge documentary about San Fran Golden Gate Bridge jumpers, but if you aint seen it watch a good comedy after... and hide the whisky and razors first ;)