PSA
so i sit here with fingers in knots and tongue desert dry trying to wring words like blood from a rock i threw past the end of my vision long agonot knowing what to reach for i'll leave my crumpled hands huddled together limp in my lap and listless as if they've expired the tenure of their use to me
so I sit here
meticulously crafting this unnecessarily wordy excuse as to why I've been off lately
there are reasons; i promise
laundry lists of stressors and distractions
unfinished plans and unanswered calls to fill the shoes I stepped out of
but I've been really busy
making sure I'm not busy at all
shrugs and sighs fill the ledger of my free time instead of accomplishments and accolades
but I'll get back to it at some point
I promise
For now I'll continue to pretend to placate myself
Milking the last remnants of life from a legacy no one even mentions anymore
Falling back to the volumes of yesteryear
like familiarity should merit more applause than originality
Like Casey Kasem should be introducing my every performance with some signature catchphrase:
"now here's that hit from the old days we all remember"
"let's take a trip down memory lane with this number"
Or
"here's some reiterated shit you already know, except this time with less feeling!"
Let me regale you with the brilliance of my still unfinished poems
Unfurl tales of my venue's heyday like some road-hard aging rockstar still trying to impress himself after years of being a hack
And failing
I don't want to be at the top of my game
I just want to play again
Remember what it was like to be me undaunted
When I would walk away from a microphone smiling instead of gritting teeth and silently kicking myself for doing that piece again
When Wednesday nights would make me happy
But unfortunately as much of an appeal to the public as this may seem it's just more wordy exploration into what the hell exactly my problem is
And how only I can fix it
So in the meantime,
while I unscrew every bolt holding together my tenuous machination of sanity and re-examine my entire perspective on art, expression and life it-fucking-self
don't lose faith in me
the same smiling drunkard we all knew and loved will be back to sway crowds with his custom-tailored brand of asinine antics
it just might take a little while
Poetry by David W Durney
Read 576 times
Written on 2008-07-08 at 08:25
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