There comes once in the distance

There comes once in the distance
a tearful drizzle, a grey rain, a bleak sorrow;
love, once a magical dance, now a stinging memory.

There comes once in the distance
a mournful yellow street light
pointing toward no particular destination;
no salvation path,
no final-reel dénouement,
no slow-motion lover’s embrace.

There comes once in the distance
only a failing electric heater in frozen February,
only molded cheese, stale coffee, a sinkful of yesterday’s dishes,
only the slow, inevitable descent into sleep…

– Kurt Poleet


“Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones but you still have to choose.” Doctor Who, Mummy on the Orient Express


Of course not

Too much time swimming ’round my big empty brain,
ripe, red corpuscles bleating like sheep on a train
to nowhere, unaware of the scythes and sickles
choking on that sickly hospital death-smell,
still thinking all’s well, well, think again,
those corpuscles scratching and screaming for a way out,
out of luck
out of your mind
out of touch
out of smokes
out of sleepy Midwestern towns where taxes are low
and all the fair-haired schoolchildren grow up to be
fair-haired grownups raising their own fair-haired schoolchildren,
a dream to some, a nightmare to others,
and the end of the road for all,
fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers,
the end of the road for all…

– Kurt Poleet


“Some things in this world just ain’t mean to be, not in the times we want ’em to, and the heart has to hold it in this world as a remembrance, a promise for the world that’s to come. There’s a prize at the end of all of it, but still, that’s a heavy load to bear.” – James McBride, The Good Lord Bird

Donning’s Bridge

Donning’s Bridge in the distance,
less and less invisible
with each step we take through the moor.

This morning is too quiet for September,
too quiet to ease this melancholy,
this unsubstantial doubt,
this listless uneasiness,
growing greater and greater
with each step we take through the moor.

Instinct bades our hands hold tight,
two sets of eyes become one in the hunt,
nothing but emptiness barricades us from the treasure we seek,
this dream, this hope we share,
falling further and further into the great unknown
with each step we take through the moor…

– Kurt Poleet


Travis Bickle: I’ll tell you why. I think you’re a lonely person. I drive by this place a lot and I see you here. I see a lot of people around you. And I see all these phones and all this stuff on your desk. It means nothing. Then when I came inside and I met you, I saw in your eyes and I saw the way you carried yourself that you’re not a happy person. And I think you need something. And if you want to call it a friend, you can call it a friend.

Betsy: Are you gonna be my friend?

Travis Bickle: Yeah. – Taxi Driver


I’m not gonna wait, take the bait,
hate’s the only commodity
holding together the bricks of my soul.
Her dry cracked lips kissing the piece,
burnt glass burnt fingers burnt brain,
grab my whistle, just in case.
Can’t even remember when I last saw the light of day,
can’t stand still, sit pretty, walk tall,
soon enough I’m gonna lie down,
gonna close my eyes,
gonna go to sleep,
and finally find some peace…

– Kurt Poleet


Omar Little: “Omar don’t scare.” – The Wire

Proud American

In any case, it can’t be clear,
we see factories smoking Lucky Strikes,
belching blackness into the cancer-stricken sky.

We see G.I. Joes playing cops and robbers,
on the streets of soul-food diners, corner liquor-stores and tenement settlements.

We see high-stakes poker-players,
playing Monopoly with week-to-week paycheck maker’s money.

We see comatose masses,
hypnotized by one hundred and fifty channel sixty-four inch pornographic babysitters.

We see lawyers and liars and lobbyists and loggers and doctors and dentists and draft-dodgers
riding a never-ending roller-coaster Tilt-a-Whirl Loop-the-Loop
of no taxation without representation.

We see all this, from the microscopic to the astronomic,
and yet we live and die in darkness…

– Kurt Poleet


“My country, right or wrong,” is a thing that no patriot would think of saying except in a desperate case. It is like saying, “My mother, drunk or sober.” – G. K. Chesterton

Frosted Flakes

All shiny and new
just a few rose petals
mostly those petals
metallic fantastic platitudes
hissy-fit kitty-cat attitudes
warbling nightingale lost
Frosted Flakes for supper,
supper in the Upper Room
from womb to tomb
cheap cigars to rose petals
mostly those petals
just a few
all shiny and new…

– Kurt Poleet


“What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains.” – Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire