There was once a man who dug his own grave
Looking for a quiet place to lie.
Country gin,
A gramophone,
Indigo evenings spent alone-
Not too much to ask.
He didn't have to die.
In your cementbound darkness in a nameless smalltown,
In an overflowing cellar with the door clamped down,
Playing your violent blues in the deep underground,
I hope that you found it somehow.
9 comments:
Shalmi, Shalmi. Someday you're going to write something that'll give the world a shake-up.
I am and will be more sad than a stupid poem can express.
But comments are welcome ofcourse.
Boka boka me.To not have realised.
Of course its Salinger!
It is. And you are. But what do you think besides?
I like the overall thingy.
But I dislike the 3 different styles of the 3 verses. Very scrambled, it seems, to me.
you do have a way with words.
a very well written poem..
I love the feel this poem's got.
You write exceedingly well for your age. Goodstuff here.
Wait, wait! So much yumness, so much prettiness all festooned together!
I likes!
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