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Drowning By The Pool(2nd Revised Version)


by Darryl Price



 

The entire room seems waiting for me like 

an octopus behind a closed, chained door.

The monk of the lamp knows he will get his

daily turn-on if he prays loudly and 

just enough for it. The favorite chair 

has my blue dent in its punched around chest

like an embossed tattoo. A crushed red space 

that I can crawl into and disappear 

from without any sense of impending 

gravity messing with its gentle, soft 

composure. Even walking around I 

feel like I'm falling, falling, just falling, 

always apart. I'm not even sure how 

to get this simple message delivered 

over to you. It's pretty straight forward 


text, nothing special I guess. Pretty much 

nothing more than hello, and help, maybe. 

I'm not holding out for the answer. There's 

nobody looking for these mad words of 

mine. It's a good thing I have new music 

to pump into my veins, otherwise I'd 

probably be dead to the whole house by 

now. Any way I've noticed lately that

I'm the very same guy in my dreams as

in real life. I feel so numb like I can't 

find my way outside anymore. I don't 

really have the energy to unwind 

that one. Just chalk it up to no news is 

all the good news there is. Jesus, I hate 

these little smug sayings that make you feel 


more alone in the universal home 

than ever. I guess I don't want to be 

here like this either, broken to pieces, 

like a forgotten glass bowl, forever,

like an obsolete voting machine, but 

I have no place else to be right now that 

fits my lonely feet being thrown onto 

the crumb encrusted floor, like some kind of 

balled up dirty tee shirt life. I'm starting 

to get used to the idea, being 

into a much slower rhythm these days 

though. I just close my eyes. Float right along. 

Don't want to watch you standing outside the 

watery feelings anymore, like a 

bright statue beaming nothing but sunshine, 


and your shadow accompanying each 

one of the trees to supper time, silk hands

on your perfectly sculpted hips. Better 

to row out a little bit more, deeper, 

let the coolness of the wind speak for us, 

if at all, and for everything that needs 

it, let there be no harm done. I'm sure to 

make a shoreline eventually, if 

nothing unusual gets me first. Might 

even hear your squeaky sneakers carry 

you away as you turn to go. I don't 

know, but there are a lot of squeaks to the 

soundtrack of this day already. Any 

one of them could mean something has changed to

something else. I was thinking of a line 


from that David Bowie song, Planet Earth 

is blue. Yeah. It is. And from where I sit

it looks like it just needs a little hug 

of some kind from a dear friend, but mine arms 

just aren't big enough to do the job, well 

that is. You made me think they were, once. That 

was just crashing waves, I'm beginning to 

see the light. Now I'm dangling off an old 

poem's edge, hoping an unexpected 

waterfall will knock some sense back into 

me. At least start me coming home again. 

Go on. You know you want to. This is the 

place where I get off the shared path any 

way, go ahead, get lost; like a so-called 

friendly rain, a blues riff comes blowing down 


from an unseen window from the same old 

neighborhood, as I feel you vanishing 

through an unseen hole of senselessly lost, 

constantly draining stars with yellow eyes. 

Good thing, the chair and I have made our pact.




Bonus poems:




Happy Birthday


by Darryl Price


It's all heart, this spirit of
our love. It's the heart, could
biology be true? It sounds like
a lie. It's the heart, fools
sometimes forget. Oh the heart, yes

we might lose something already disappeared.
It's a heart, never question. I
said heart, the clock inside, okay?
It's the heart being plowed, being
mercilessly harvested. I need a drink.

It's the heart rolling around inside
everyone. It's the heart, in the
trees above our heads. It's the
heart, and, as I suspected, someone's
making that wish. The universe doesn't

take lightly to such things. It's
heart, the joy behind the mountains.
It's the heart, not caring what
you've done. It's the heart, crumpled
to one sorrow like ten thousand

cigarettes. It's the heart, in almost
exactly the same spot as last
night's feverish moon. It's the heart,
I tell you, but you won't
listen. It's the heart, shocking you

awake, again. The heart, banging the
door shut behind you. It's the
heart, the biggest rule breaker in
the galaxy, living by stolen means,
take the chocolate and run, kid.



Bonus material:




I Moved You

by Darryl Price



You said, move me, I moved you, but, listen,

I don't want to be saved. You said, move

me, I moved you, but I'm still a boy

in so many ways. I don't want to break

your heart, again, those days are gone. You said,

move me, I moved you, but you could never

be my friend, not in that secret way. The

mystery of love pisses me off like nothing else.

You said, move me, I moved you like a

mountain, but you just weren't into holding on, arms

to arms. It makes me feel so lonely. You

said, move me, I moved you, you left me

there on my own. You said, move me, I

moved you and you made your excuses like a

drunk in the middle of a blackout. You said,

move me, I moved you in a purely beautiful,

brave and dazzling trick of the light and yet

you continue to haunt the darkness like a low

riding moon. You said, move me, I moved you,

but it was way too much to include me

in the joke I guess. You said, move me,

I moved you and I probably always will. You

said, move me, I moved you like your own

personal singer, there isn't anything to be concerned about. 

You said, move me, I moved you and nobody 

knows. Yet that's a long way to go.   


 

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