Memphis is no friend of mine

Memphis is no friend of mine

A Poem by K Scott Smith

Distances
Bridges, Highways,
Dreams,
Cars passing.
I withdrew my wishes from the wishing well
(at once)

Let me be!
Let me be!
At last,
A familiar spirit
Even its strangeness,
Its mysteries are familiar to me.
Speaking in colors,
Child of the goddess of the moon,
A spirit as old and as young as mine.

Suddenly I see before me long afternoons,
Shades of morning,
So many hues
That I never knew
Seems inevitable
A wave rushing to break itself

To what end...?
Who knows?

Sitting in silence,
In silences shrine,
Wearing a shroud of silence

Once,
     the river gave long lectures,
Once,
    I had the patience
        And the confidence
                Of ten men.

I wrote bad poetry to pass the time
To save the world
Or destroy the world,
Or make no difference at all.

Let them all come
But by what rank?
And it what order?


She was always cruel,
But never unkind,
Memphis is no friend of mine.
No,
Memphis is no friend of mine.

A fountain of desire
Tethered to each and every one.
Wellspring from which your heart flows-
When the hot wind blows-
Through your open window-
Oh how the time goes-
When you feel cheap and cheated,
Incompleted, useless, unneeded,
Unheard of and unheeded

Rain,
Two days in a row.
So rare that I keep count
Last night,
I dreamed of my first life,
or maybe it was my third life,
Enough is so rarely enough.

We slept where ever we fell,
Dizzy and drowsy and Unkept
Weeks upon weeks of wandering,
Of sweat
Of Blood...

So much blood.
Given away in strange places,
Hotels,
Cars,
Exchanged and mingled with strangers blood

Long sleeves stained copper
Running,  Running, Rushing,
Living so close to death for so little,
If anything at all.

Heavy with crime,
Soaked to the bones,
Stealing and watching
Buying and selling,
So much I have given away for words in a notebook.

Somewhere in this city you are sleeping
Long face,
Wild vines
Thin and mean.

Take your darkest doubt
Turn it inside out
We wont make amends,
Ive nothing to defend

Dawn breaks
The nights cruel silences
The sun feasts on my flesh
I will not go back.

I've got nothing to show
I've got nothing to prove,
I got nothing to win
And next to nothing to lose.

© 2014 K Scott Smith


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Added on August 31, 2014
Last Updated on August 31, 2014

Author

K Scott Smith
K Scott Smith

Birmingham, AL



About
K. Scott Smith is a writer from Birmingham AL. He writes poetry as well as Historical Fiction. He is a lover a Rimbaud, Bukowski, Blake, Neruda, Nietzche, and Mckinley Cooper(to name a few). Most rece.. more..

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