I Left the Lamp On in the Corner

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  • Hopeless
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  • Hopeless Love
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  • Lonely
    • GeniusMan
    • When push comes to shove, conga lines can get pretty ugly.

    Poem Commentary

    Sometimes I start off with an idea and a good rhyme and I run with it and it leads me here and I don't know what the hell I'm s'posed to make of it. I mean, that title?! WHAT THE HECK IS IT SUPPOSED TO MEAN. I mean, I know. But for the sake of a reader, are they gonna get it?!

    I Left the Lamp On in the Corner

     Oh what the touch of one gentle dream can press upon the heart.
    Words as numbers, waves and brains, stacks on empty charts,
    It's not to say I don't enjoy the drug of idle dreams.
    I'm just the guy who notes the jabs it does to self-esteem.

    "Don't give up!" I say to me,
    I only want what I can't see,
    Is not to say I've closed my shop;
    I only say I've filled my thoughts.

    In nights where cuddling pillows fails,
    I tug at flesh and wedding bells,
    I lick her lips, I make her jokes,
    I make up things I'll never know.

    I lengthen the things I cannot determine.
    I preach to my sins a wonderful sermon.
    I look for her places she'll never be found.
    With my foot in my mouth and my head in the ground.

    I maintain inner promiscuity
    By the whims of what she'd do to me,
    But the memories I have when I'm alone
    Have fortified my very bones.

    She will not stay, she cannot, won't.
    Have fortified my very bones.
    I dress her daily in married clothes,
    Have fortified...I am alone.

    And I know I should not bother,
    All her doctrine is her fathers.
    And she's struck me in the side, her view.
    And agree is something I'd love to do.

    Oh what the touch of one gentle dream can press upon the heart.
    It poisons the wary, the brave and the proud, and tortures the needy and smart.
    I will not withdraw, I cannot stop now, as my body falls into decay,
    I cannot think of her now as I'll lower my brow. And dear God, I hope she's okay.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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