AND YOUR POINT WAS?...
(Stephen H. Katz, 12/1949-5/30/2005)
So why, tell me, when you've parlayed a lifetime of failure
into your sole and ultimate success, do I feel only this dull ache?
You made me crazy, you sonofabitch--or made me nuts
all over again, revived the craziness that lives in me
and that awaits only the emotional kick in the balls
to come up to the surface.
So what did you use?--one of my ex's Wusthof knives,
Swiss Army, illegal switchblade? Maybe a chain saw:
after all, when you took a (ha ha) stab at this,
you weighed over 400 pounds.
What have you found out there, big guy?
The answer to all your problems? Hope for change?
Rest, maybe...at last, surcease from sorrow
and shoving Sara Lee cheesecakes in your snout.
I'm sorry, Steve. Out here
I am being Mr. Tough Guy
and inside my guts are bleeding
because once I loved you and now
all I feel for you is not for you, it is for
the woman I married who was your sister,
who I also used to love, and who will grieve you
behind her Tough Broad exterior,
and you cannot imagine the people you hurt
with this fucked-up gesture.
Whose life was it anyway?
Ours, all of ours.
ken/5-30-05
--
Kenneth Wolman http://kenwolman.com http://kenwolman.blogspot.com
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"Poetry is tribal not material....this is where you can remember the good
times along with the worst; where you are not allowed to forget the worst,
else you cannot be healed."--C. D. Wright
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