Poem from the Underworld

I pass romance
alone
in the cold iron night

poems from the lost
surface
and become classics instantly

old tin cans
litter alley ways
shining their razor edge
in the impossible moonlight
dumpsters battered
dirty green and metallic
shield wild cats
scurrying about in the dark
junkie needles
scavengers
crazy bums
shout filth and drink
into the garbage air

fluorescent streetlight memories
haunting women
visages
on the corner
downtown
near the mailman-blue
mailbox tattooed with stickers

in the pouring rain
secret impassioned interludes
falling farther behind friends
and their frantic conversation
communities
with collective lies
shared beliefs
and vain morality
burdens our decisions
with intrusions of their cross
waved like a flag of patriotism
into the mind of the underground

the real America
down here
among the gutters and sidewalks
trees and secret paths
into the depths of the soul
here lies genius
here lies the inspiration
of bards and villains
a source of heroicism
travel is the heart of America
lonely roads lead forever
to other states
stretching concrete blackness
to somewhere
we need to be

dirty soaked basements
of old shack houses
a night's entertainment
the heat of bodies
creates euphoria and expectation
surprise
confessions
the blatant honesty
of the Dionysian party
everyone goes mad
performing brave stunts
and acrobatics
remembered by storytellers
myths
in the hangover morning

this is the age
of in between
too young for death
too old for innocence
just waiting
waiting for birth
and a new year

this is the time of conversational revolt
and physical apathy

we are content
in monotony
deep ingrained pollution
and our garbage habitat
smoking and knowing
that cancer kills
drudging through
weathered and grundgy
butts of past light-ups

then comes her
the best description
that can be given
of her
for her
is the newest, freshest
spring odes of old
the muse
of my most inspired
triumphant epic
the undeniable, insatiable desire
for her
which cannot be denied
lips of delicacy
unlock the secrets of my soul
but
like the novel
after the climax
comes the end
and horrible finality

we always deny
that which we most need
and stare blankly ahead
always
to the future