A Poem by Ty

My resume ain't s**t I couldn't
get employment wearing a suit
pushing people and paper
around even if I wanted to
I don't know...
what to do my hands are tied
resigned to trying to find the rhyme
and reason where there isn't any left
is this my death or just a
necessary step?
well I guess there's no escaping
this meritocratic medicine                                                             
it looks kinda golden
soothes my throat when I feel like speaking 
and I'm gonna drink it all!
got a job cleaning at a shopping mall!

Well I sweep the floors back and forth
before I do the trash and
the crumbs in the cracks look
a lot like the aligning of the planets
I note the irony
walking chronic fatigue
stomping monotony
humming 'Piss Factory' on repeat    
Up the stairs
smelling Diderot in the air
In and out of every lung
It must be thick enough to touch
And I just brushed over the
same spot that I had before
it's not a scrap it's a
hole in the floor

And I can see myself 
inside of it, sinking
down crawling round with the
ants and thinking
when will I ever get
out?, how
am I ever gonna get out?

Then the hand of conversation              
picks me up, put me down
words just won't come out
and I got way too many things to

think about anyhow, I can not
look around without looking
back down at my feet
shuffling to the beat of this
song in an embryonic state
placating the aching 
in my skeletal frame                       
my retinas are wide awake

There's someone stuffing Washington
into a rigged game
newly placed by kids at play
and an old man transcribing Lamentations
and brand new sales
there's one on flame-less candles
"light up your night for only 
49.95" and while a 
vagabond haggles
for a free burger
somebody sighs aloud at
around the clock news coverage of a 
(new) murder.
Was my mistake                                                               
an easy one to make                                                              
the bullshit made it evident                            
was just something about the president

La da-da-da-da-da-da-blah

Now I overhear a conversation
this woman asking her friend
in an unassuming voice
"are you shopping or just wandering?".
And I liken it 
as something I may someday see
on license plates, in a campaign speech               
on the waving flag, or currency
Then I see 
human mannequins  model                                                          
bags/dresses and attract
feral eyes behind the glass
In fact it's happened times before
like the fist fight in the food court
the crowd gawked and cheered and roared
and felt nothing but the urge to record

Man outside with a 
gun, lady on the PA
saying "walk don't run"
and she's cracking up
People dropping their s**t
going insane
looking for the nearest exit

And I just sit
with closed eyelids and dwell
How long can this place                                                              sustain itself?


I get up in the morning
Holes in my shoes, nothing to eat
Am I dreaming? trying to feel my way out
to the streets where I see
the Sunday morning neighbors back
from their meeting waiting for me to
wave to them

© 2017 Ty

Author's Note

Lyrics usually don't read as well as poems/prose, so I don't know. It's like a Courtney Barnett kind of thing.

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Added on August 7, 2017
Last Updated on August 7, 2017



Oshkosh, WI

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