For The Poet in the Street

[Luzifer]

I can see as you chase dreams floating in drifting thoughts

With currents that push you towards some broken city street

Where men in cars with guns smile with teeth very sweet

But I would not enter them nor let them enter you

As you pursue your own father’s shade through the barroom

To the offices that he had made his own tomb

Will you be like him fallen from grace

As you sleep with the water running right near your face

But you need somebody to tell you the sun is bright

To tell you that there will be some end to this night

In which the moon hangs over head like a pearl

Which glistens fetid as you cry out to you mother

Your sisters and brother

Who do not need you now they left to bury themselves

Deep in a trashcan they can’t see

But I hear you

But I will listen to

Your fingers

Taping and glistening

Inside a railway car

As delirious and wondrous

Word strings spar

With your columns

As you write

I am reading them

These things that you have wrote

Plastic menageries

Where I can smile

You are now singing in some smoky place

With glimmering rings that shine from the hands laced

With finery fingers from fallen men who grin inside

Their dreams all broken and now tossed aside

But as I wonder now if you’re a safe and sweet

Dripping out your harmony’s

Onto a page so that I can read

But now I see you

Floating in an ocean of

Discreetly singing waves

Until I push off

Into the whirlpool you

Have drawn beautifully

Inside your soul I see

Where your pen met my hand

And you are crying now, under the railway car

Trolley that severed you, you dying way too far

From money and madness and some sort of flying thing

A record or a dove who would sing

Seven fine flowing melodies all holy and virtuous

All in the memories of some dead and hanging man

Who kissed you on the cheek where you stand

But he is buried now interred where he can’t sleep

And so goes to walk up again

And now I sleep in you

Deep in your memory

Or in your predictions of

The things you will see

In the five days or so

I will whisper to you

All that things you didn’t dare

To hope were true

But oh my lovely

Little girl of pencil hands

And twenty one years to leave

Me from no place you know

I will rescue you from the depth

It seems where salesmen swim

And dream and die

All out on a limb

And I am freezing you in some time machine

Praying I will make it there to scream

My thoughts right into you, little girl who lived inside

Some woman’s stomach who was

Digesting dreams along with you

Saved not from the darkened streets

Oh I will go there tonight

So I can be near you when you fall apart

Tearing your tongue out from your heart

And you will be crying

Drowning meaningful passages with your own blood

And you will be dying

Choking on somebody else’s dream that could only seem to be mud

I hope that you will hear the song

Of some fallen minstrel who was sobbing his rhyme

As his whole world fell to pieces for us to pick up

And keep in our bosom all the time

Deep in our ocean which we hold inside our chest

Like flotsam for us to grasp and stay there afloat

As the rising froth starts to bloat

And hemorrhage itself upon our pure white cloths

Which hide the blackness that we hold inside

Deep between our thoughts and or plasmatic ideas

But please hold on to the cliff

That place where you live

Deep beneath of rift

Of your own heart

Where I can catch you if

You loose your grip

Chasing destruction

Through some trend setting hip

Place where they sip

Fetal-flavored drinks

You could need

Deep

In

Your

Head

Where

You

Were

Smiling

And

Dead

In

The

Rhythm

Of

Grins

That

Were

Made

Out of

Gin

And

Each

Word

A letter

A poem

A tryst

We never made in our hearts

And your saliva

Which falls in rivers to me

Where it will make a sea

And a pool to swim in

If I could just find

That place you have dined

And hold you

As you slip feelingless

Though my hands

And into a darkness

Where no one can go

Save the cold wind that blows

Out of book and a place

Where the whole human race

Could live if we had the key

But if I find your shell I will pass forward your sons

Which you made from refrains

Or maybe your brains

And let you forever be sung

By the people who will never hear your sweet songs

About all that’s gone wrong in your eyes

But please do not cry

And sleep sweetly under the bubbly draw bridge

As you are crushed by the rail way car

Drifting from the moon lying far

From the shore of your quay as you scream

But oh I hear you

I hear you

I can still hear you

Now rest your lungs as I come out there to find

And to save

A young child depraved

On her grief

[Luzifer]

I know that I'm posting with out a comment but I have become concerned that something is wrong with this poem and would desperately like some imput on wether it as broken as i think it is.

For one of my poems (I know I'm not the best poet so this doesn't bother me) its gotten a ton of hits but no comments. I was wondering why this would be and I thought perhaps i made the poem to indecipherable. so I would like to ask those who have read it whether it is too cryptic. Am i talking too much to myself so that other cannot understand what i'm saying? Poetry is meant to be understood and if I am failing to communicate perhaps i should alter it. Or maybe something else is wrong with it. In either event could some body help me to fix the failure?

Thanks
~Luzy