there were men in colored suits
on faded album covers and
I asked him if they still played shows,
but of course he didn't know
what yesterday had taught him nor
what he had been doing these days.
but as I withdrew from the present,
I could only see him in '79
leaning over the hood of his black Camaro
complaining about no money for parts
and the unfinished tattoo on his back;
a half-filled phoenix that was
perfect against the sunlight;
it was in that way, that kind
of beautiful
he could never see
himself, ridden to his parent's basement and a
bright orange love seat characterized by
cigarette ashes and old National Geographic magazines that
had taught him everything about
those places he would
never get to go
anywhere beyond the ever-clicking ignition of his
aimless knowledge, and the ever-cranking, ever deserving
arrogance that he couldn't bring himself
to get the parts for.
these years had taught him all the stories
but the one of escape, and I, with no regret,
and a saddening degree of an unsettling dismay,
could grasp no need for sympathy nor need to be
in his life anymore.
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140,567 Literary Works • 673,442 Reviews
i dont really understand it.....the title doesnt go with the poem and i dont get the 79 part. If i thought hard enough i would probably get part of it but you starrt with one topic and then change it completely around....
Ooo, very enjoyable. I especially liked the constant car metaphor, especially when you compared it to his arrogance. The unfinished phoenix tattoo was intriguing--a part of me is a little sad it didn't get as much metaphor-izing (is that a word?) as the car, but it's not a big deal. Did you ever consider using any dialogue, especially from him? May not work, but it might be worth experimenting with. Fantastic poem, thanks for the read!