Saturday, August 8, 2015

Noel Negele- A Poem

A striving writer.

He poured a vodka shot
in his beer
and continued to whine

life is unfair he said
like premature hair loss
or premature ejaculation
( it seemed cancer or starvation 
 or debts leading to suicides eluded him)
and there's nothing left to write about either
he said
all the old and long gone writers have monopolized
every single topic-
how can you write about alcohol 
after Bukowski
or heroine after Burroughs
or class resistance after London or Orwell
then again there's Tolstoy and Dostoyievski and 
Camus and all the rest taking all the deeper stuff out
of the picture
and philosophy-
forget about philosophy he said
there are no more theories
to come up with 
and we're not that smart to begin with either.

After a pause and a burp
he said that even suicides have become cliches

it's terrible he said
and looked at me;
there's nothing else
left to do
but live.

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