Indulgence

The atmosphere is burning dust from my hollowed bones
And all the dead are taking turns riding on the storm
It takes us back to smiling without the botoxed frowns
Where speech was never borne behind the unbolted doors

Perhaps by chance the moon could smash this damned frantic earth
A selfish thought, I know, but for men, time strangles life
Better then without.
The apartment building’s turned back
From below I hear a wounded ego burst and shout
“I need a break! I need a break!” then, “Here you’ll get none!”

Focus broken by an itch and “I must be lousy”
Then the sound of squealing brakes the man’s foreshadowed doom
Scratch the itch until it bleeds and scratching then the sores
“Who will take his room?” The tenant-master shouts. Fly, spit!

Fly! An eviction notice and power surges and
Rental trucks and collections and “Rent-to-own, my ass!”
And protein shakes and protein shakes and protein—who buys this shit?
But the itching doesn’t cease, so thoughts climb to the sky
To the atmosphere that’s burning. Before I am dust

A storm may ride the marrow from all my fleshy bones
And all the scowling slammed doors will open up to us
A smile from the holy moon unto this tantric earth
Still it’s worse to breathe in life and risk the selfish thought


I wrote this poem while I was taking one of Dr. Givan's classes. I've changed some things since then, but I'm wondering if I should perhaps revert it to its previous form. One of the problems with my revision is that I've manipulated the feet of the meter a bit too much in order to keep thirteen syllables in each line. It still retains some of the rhythm of the original, but not as much. The original on the other hand had a lot of issues that I hope I've addressed in this revision.