old habits die hard

[paperleaves]

sittin' at the cornerstore
wedged between hiawatha and
pueblo, munchin' on some stale
potato crisps, I
watch the widows board buses
to and from blue-collar jobs.
their biological clocks in stasis, they stand in winter coats
waiting patiently, through hours of laundry,
cold mac and cheese, and vapid sitcom skits
for some means to an end.
my hands wrestle with some
atavistic hunger, to lunge, to lust,
to live in their stead,
and I jump up, little pebbles in my knees,
to light a petite cigarette,
you know, the kind they sell in convenience markets
for those who are only semi-into
masochism?
the smoke dribbles out of my poet's lips,
a vague trail of neuron spittle
paints the evening air.
for a moment, just a moment, I can hear the soul of the Earth,
she is humming from the pits of her belly,
like a mother to her child,
assuring me that all that has happened, all that will happen,
and all that is happening
will never happen again.

[paradoxical]

You certainly have a poet's perception and sensibilities. The ending reminded me of the very best of Bukowski.

[Revolte]

I really love this one, probably my favorite of yours. You captured one of the those moments that leave a person in deep thought, and triumphantly gave it longer life.

[Buh4Bee]

I'm just wondering if the habit you are describing is smoking or the habit of vicariously living through others (a poet's habit of observation)?

This was a nice meanderings piece. Much enjoyed!

[breathtest]

'the kind they sell in convenience markets
for those who are only semi-into
masochism?'

love this line. and love the entire poem.

[PrinceMyshkin]

for a moment, just a moment, I can hear the soul of the Earth,
she is humming from the pits of her belly,
like a mother to her child,
assuring me that all that has happened, all that will happen,
and all that is happening
will never happen again.

Oh, but I think it will happen again and hopefully you'll be there to record it, with or without those pebbles in your knees (what an image) only, if you do, it will be a whole 'nother moment, a whole 'nother poem, 'cause I think every breath you take and every moment you live through is different!!!

You are!

[paperleaves]

Thank you para, Revolte, jersea, breathtest, and Prince.

Jersea--the old habit of which I'm referring to is the poet's habit of living through others. I'm glad you caught onto that, I didn't really make it clear in any way, shape, or form, but apparently it was effective! :)

breathtest--Thank you! that was one of those lines you write and you look at it over and over again and smirk in hopes that someone will get a chuckle out of it. Glad you enjoyed :)

and Prince, dear Prince, THANK YOU. What I was referring to in the last 3 lines was Nietzche's theory of eternal recurrence (which I am obviously in opposition to) in which he states in Thus Spake Zarathustra between two characters (Zarathustra and the dwarf):

'Behold this moment!' I went on. 'From this gateway Moment a long, eternal lane runs back: an eternity lies behind us. 'Must not all things that can happen have already have happened, been done, run past? 'And if all things have been here before: what do you think of this moment, dwarf? Must not this gateway, too, have been here before? 'And are not all things bound fast together in such a way that this moment draws after it all future things? Therefore draws itself too? 'For all things that can run must also run once again forward along this long lane."

I love, love, love your comments! They are what keep me coming back to share and grow with you all :)

love
Kate

[lallison]

The first thing I thought upon reading the first line "Sitting at a cornerstore" was "Sitting on a corn flake" - I am the Walrus.

After that, I was depressed... thanks for that, by the way.

But I think you get some empathy with this one. I think we all go through those feelings. I like the pebbles in your knees best. Never lose them, but if they come too close, they might disturb me.