Picture Me Naked

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    Picture Me Naked

    The road was gold, the air was clear,

    Dropped back in the world I go to forget my fear;

    Float forward to the crosswalk and look before I cross,

    A needle in one hand and in the other, a coin to toss;

    I cut another line, look up and make a wish

    And wonder to myself if the elephant man ever felt like this;

    Take me to the man and tell him what you can,

    Drag me through the field, holding my hand

    And remind me about the day when she says,

    “I want you to see the trouble you bring when

    You’re with me, I just want you to come and

    Have rough sex on the hood of my car . . . with me.”

     

    The book was open to the blank page in back,

    The creeper from the pipe hits and I drop down in the sack;

    I roll over and spin with the glow-in-the-dark-stars,

    Smoke rings being chased by Hotwheel cars;

    I climb the ladder over the black cat in my path

    And look up into the cracked mirror from my Mickey Mouse Bubble Bath;

    Polly wants a cracker and a chaser with her cheese and fine wine

    While I powder my nose and wait for the first sign

    And watch her walk over and open the sermon book, and read,

    “You can’t stop this now, I won’t listen when you tell

    Me it’s too late, I just need to know, when you’ll see

    Me walk away, and say . . . it’s too late.”

     

    I skip through all the potholes at me feet,

    I forgot my shoes on my way to find someone to meet;

    I know it’s because of me when I see her start to cry,

    When she’s with me, I know she wants to die,

    And that wouldn’t be so bad;

    So I get furious with myself and curse the ground leading away

    And know something was amiss when she offered me a bag today;

     A little cocaine? A little morphine? A little heroine?

    A little something to risk it all for the dust,

    A little something to you from us;

    Take it home and write it into the poem

    And whisper the words when they come to you . . .

    You need all this thought to erase this one dream,

    You need to say thank-you when they say, “Have a day.”

    Take it down and pass it around

    And everyone will make a coughing sound . . .

     

    The road was gold, the air was clear . . .

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    dylandean’s Poems (32)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Frustrations 7
    I Hate Everybody 5
    Hibernation Blues 3
    Voodoo Blues 4
    For the Love of a Woman 3
    A Study of Faith 1
    Love Bloody Love 2
    Mathilda The Hun 2
    No Mercy 1
    The Sick and the Dead 1
    Picture Me Naked 0
    Muse of the World 0
    Lights From Space 0
    Afterbirth 1
    Forgive Me Not 4
    Five Card Wink 1
    The Outlaw Trail 2
    Mystery of a Woman 8
    Endless 2
    Flower Bed 1
    Oceans of Time 1
    Reflection 0
    A Taste of Blood 2
    The Earthling 3
    Winter Rain 4
    Death Therapy 2
    She Used To Be Mine 1
    Whispering Sky 0
    Comforter 2
    Mustang 2
    Whispers of a Dream 2
    A Taste of Death 6