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Friday Night Guitar Poem

Tags: friday love hold

On a Friday night
I have a date with
my guitar
a bundle of weed
and all my insecurity
because in the afternoon
I was bound by frail family
to their service
and in the morning I felt
every twinge of my chronic diseases
I need to get back to the doctor
but I can’t make myself go
because of what they might tell me
and I can’t let my family go
because of what they might call me
and while we’re at it
I am only surreptitiously fighting the beasts
who are owning the world right now
and I ought to buy a gun
to kill a fascist with but I know
my hands make me a terrible shot
unless the gun is pressed
against my head
I do the research
compile names
addresses and hatreds
but who is going to care
among my gentle friends 
who are sure that Love will conquer all
once they are bulldozed
into the poisoned earth
I need to seize the guitar
the way I used to Hold my pen
before I stopped writing poems
in favor of playing guitars
with these broken hands
full of dead nerves that hate me
as I have grown to hate so much
all I want is one good touch
all I want to love is one good person
but instead I fear the voice inside saying
fuck black brown white center left and right
fuck America and the world and the dolphins too
fuck all the love someone unknown holds tight
instead of letting it go
I want to hold my guitar
and play it loud and drown out the butchers
claiming my dying ears
for their own
singing me hemorrage songs
singing me into their arms
I’m tired of you if you think this is
remotely a good poem
remotely a prayer
and not a wound opening with a hiss
full of once cherished blood
(yours and mine) flowing 
on a Friday night
you ought to

thank God for this guitar
in my hands
that is not at all a gun



This post first appeared on Dark Matter | You've Been Warned., please read the originial post: here

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Friday Night Guitar Poem

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