A Puddle With No Reflection

Pissing down
Heavily thoughts rain upon my head
Swirling, dissolving,
But not yet coalescing
To a coherent whole
In a fragmented mind;
A puddle with no reflection.


EDITOR'S NOTE: The following poem may disconcert the unprepared reader. It uses language common even in respectable households and in modern music. If you do read it, and find it offensive, I beg you to consider what the poem illustrates so superbly. What have we done that has reduced the word for lovemaking to it's own mechanical and rejecting opposite, to have made a life source obscene ? This is a poem by a young person about a way of being which has denied respect for a way of feeling. To quote a line from the body of the poem 
I kick the empty sound across my mind - it yields not;
Machined Feelings

Life sucks
Who cares?

I'm angry
Fuck you
Kiss my ass

I'm bored
So fucking what?
Fuck you.

I kick an empty bottle across the ground; it smashes
I kick the empty sound across my mind - it yields not;
I cannot break the fucking thing that pains me;
The strange chemical mind that I have got.

Rebellious slave that needs to be chastised,
Rebellious slave that causes me so much trouble;
Rebellious slave that, for me, needs to die;
At this rebellious slave I throw a bottle.


I feed his body through the machine;
Their grindings, I dance to;
He makes music with his screams;
Accompanied by breaking bottles.

Such things begin to calm the mind;
To drain; to kill all emotion;
I'm feeling better now;
A machine mind without motion.

I'm depressed
So fucking what?
Fuck you.

I'm angry
Who cares?
Fuck you.

I'm bored
Life sucks.
Kiss my ass.



(C) Copyright 1983
Jeremy Stringer
All Rights Reserved