As I lay on the floor in my room
I try to write
but it does not come easily.
I have so many thoughts
Circling through my mind.
None of them are connected
But all of them as important as the
One before and
The one that follows.
While we drove home,
The images seemed so real.
Everything was important. . .
The liter in the gutters.
The inpatient drivers.
The drug rehab signs next to the highway.
The condemned buildings still standing
As solitary figures on State Street.
Is this what the world has become?
The famous and the rich buy
Summer homes only 20 minutes from here,
“The Real World”
As they go to drink and drive through
local beaches and dunes.
Do they not see what I see?
Or is it that society only make me cry?
Sitting at the table, I watched
the people as they listen to the band.
It was so loud, we finally had to sit in silence.
People were obsessed with music and beer.
Is this what people live for?
Is this what is so important?
The reason why we are all born?
Do people listen to life at all?
Is this all that life is?
As I lay on the floor in my rom,
All the images come back to me,
The fear of what is to come.
Lines written before 1991