Who am i right now
Someone i used to be
I look into the mirror
And i am not who i am two
Years ago
Even though i am in the same place
With what seems to be the same place
But things have changed, no matter
How infinitesimal:
The people who were around, my health
Your health, the flux of constant change
often unperceptive
And sometimes I wonder what I will be
Two years from now, what will i have, what have i
Learned, the people i have gained and lost,
The things i learned and the things i have forgotten
The macro and the micro changes that occurred unceasingly
I look in the mirror-
Noticing my glasses, mask on face and clothing, and losing and greying of the hair
And i may not be at this job much longer
I remember going to the restroom, walking the long halls, the sound of the television
For the breakroom, the people i tried to avoid, and the ones that i wanted to see
It is a place with people and things
A point in the earth and time–
I think of the people I have met:
The ones i liked and didn’t like
For whatever reasons
Humane and beyond
Chemistry and Time changes so much
Doesn’t it?
25 and crazy
I was gone completely
Hated my warehouse job
And I always hangout after work taking
The subway to hangout on Delmar Blvd
Every writer every kid should have Delmar boulevard, it depresses to think some kid somewhere doesn't have a street like Delmar
Most everything I wanted was there
A cool indie bookstore
A cinema that played cool art movies like A Clockwork Orange, I would just watch these films alone with my popcorn and feel sophisticated
A vintage record store with obscure music in it. All kinds of punk hip hop reggae records
Drum circle with people playing music and hanging out
And an active street scene with people going up down streets with music playing from their cars
People going in and out the restaurants and bars
The library in university City that stayed opened with the crazy writers I liked to read. The ones other libraries didn't stock. The clerks were smart and intellectual. Sitting there trying to write something in a notebook when I was running out to get the subway to make it for work the next day.
How did I do that?
I was 25 I guess
The walk to the subway was so long
It felt alive on Delmar, and I went there for hours when I had no money or hope for anything
Sometimes bumping into some animated person by chance and listening to them
Could I ever have been a writer without this street?
Could I have had this inspiration of place somewhere else?
Walking around with my backpack and writing in a notebook my thoughts and feelings, reading writers like Dostoyevsky and Henry Miller, Tennessee Williams, Bukowski Allen Ginsberg and so many others like Hubert Selby jr how could I forget him
Somehow making it home from the subway and going to bed making to the job for work in the morning
How did I do it?
Being 25 I guess man
I thought I hated being 25 too
At times felt so depressed and confused with car break downs and cops stopping me
These words in this writing prove me wrong
Gotchu poem
whatever it is
That's got you
You have to get rid of it
I remember getting gotten
And couldn't get away from it
And thinking of it all the time
Not thinking but feeling it
But I remember praying to it
And living it
And waiting for it
It's a terrible way to describe it
A friendly face
A strange familiar face
I haven't seen in forever
Strange how it takes you back to a
Time and a place that doesn't really exist anymore
Like an old upbeat top 40 song
But you remember the days
And the music
And remember how alive you felt
And remember the bad decisions you made
The girls and the reckless desperate money
And how romantic it all felt
You can't go home again
But maybe just
Maybe you can approach something like it
And the nights can sing
And dance like the most
Dopest karaoke bar ever
In the finite landscape of your mind
This poem is so alive
It makes me want to cry
I won't though
This time
Donald goines
I remember his books
And his story and the crimes he did and drugs he did. And terrible stories he told that I found so interesting and entertaining but are so awful when you think about it. And I know all the readers who love those stories. But he could have written those stories without heroin. That's a dangerous and awful drug. All those words and stories and the craziness of it all.
Damion Hamilton is from St. Louis MO. His poems have appeared in Chiron Review, Poesy Magazine, Zygote in My Coffee, Red Fez, The Camel Saloon and many others. He writes poetry, stories and novels. He has written several books. Available here. He can be found on twitter here.
No comments:
Post a Comment