Waiting Around to Live
 I first wrote this poem 7 winters ago, a wander through the dark season  when I was waiting most for spring. As I've been teaching myself the  guitar, this was one of the first I tried to find in the picking of the  strings. It's a little scary to be sharing it with you now, but this is  meant to be my future. For years, there's nothing I've wanted more than  to share my poems with music, alone on stage with this berserker poetry  (if you will). This is a beginning, here we grow...


it gets so quiet these days
I feel like I'm living in a silent movie
looking for the perfect stranger
to validate my suspense
it's like I'm an editor with a dull pair of scissors
I've left in whole sentences devoid of meaning
because it's all essential when it's all the same
it's all or nothing
my dictionary tells me that "dream" is a verb
and "nightmare" is just a descriptive term
but on days like these,
I just sit and nightmare about my future
waiting around to live
waiting around to give a pistol to a neutral party
so we can play a game of Canadian roulette
(where you put five rounds in and leave one out)
it gets so quiet these days
I feel like I'm drowning in a record drought
like I'm lost in a blizzard of acid snow
I need to get myself buried
in the desert earth
and let the rain make me grow...


March 24, 2017
Beaconsfield. Nova Scotia

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