I see you, you know.
Skulking around. Hiding in the shadows, in the dark places that you helped to create, you crouch and you imagine yourself to be invisible. But, the problem is, you generate your own light. You are a beacon of color in this gray place, and so I cannot help but see you shine.
What do you want? Why are you here?
Are you waiting for something? Are you staying so close because you hope to watch me descend into madness once again, or because you dread it? Do you wish happiness for me, or do you only seek validation for your own ego's sake?
What happens is up to you. It's always been up to you. I'm sure that you don't want that kind of responsibility. I'm fucking positive that I wish you didn't have it, that I was in charge here.
But I'm not, and I never have been, and it's entirely possible that I never will be again.
See, you have something of mine. Something important. I wish you'd either give it back, or at least admit that you have it.
Is that why you're here? Do you have something for me?
I see you, you know.
OTP - Question.
I read and enjoyed your Pool poem. Have you ever heard a pool hall poem, which, I think is a jailhouse poem, that I used to hear the old farts recite at the Grand And Olive poolroom in St. Louis back in the late 50s?
It started in this way:
"Say, you should been with me last night about half-past ten.
That's when all the pool sharks started comin' in.
In came Coco Brown, you could tell he was cat by the clothes he wore.
Wearing a six-button bennie and Stacy Adams, right from the store."
It continues in this vein to be the all-time epic of street poems, recounting various hustlers, gangsters and hangers-on through an entire game of straight pool.
posted by: Shane | May 17, 2006 2:22 PM
Nope. Not familiar with that one.
posted by: dave | May 17, 2006 2:28 PM
I going to assume that this wasn't written to me, but just in case - I still do not have your jacket.
posted by: MixedSignalGirl | May 21, 2006 9:41 AM