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We of the Synchronized Yawns
Written by Alec Patric on 20-12-2009
by A. S. Patric
what we do for money
things done in good faith
for the love of our fellow man
for a fuck or love, for both
the things we do for them
motherfatherwifesondaughters
the things we do for me
ambition and ego, superego +
id, evolution and development
for the blank page soul
for a blank cheque God
the things I’ll do for you
for the vague interest of your wandering eye
for the vast disinterest of your wondering I
things done in the middle of the night
things done in the cold light of day
all of this for you and for me, and others
the superabundance after survival
the superfluous after-hunt grunts
a swirl of ink in my brain
a splash of black in the heart
a freewheeling delight in cheating fate
printed on the inside of my eyelids
for a chance to meet destiny
the train that leaves 3:13am
in the station of your mind
arriving here tomorrow
in the nowhere of words
everyone else passes us by
like those clowns at carnivals
that take a coin to swivel and turn
for the ball through the mouth
for a lottery laugh of victory
all done on spec or simple glee
for a moment of distraction
for the chance of connection
the easy done, done easy
for the ball down the throat
stifling a coordinated yawn
7 Responses to “We of the Synchronized Yawns”
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Seems to have the shallowness of our culture pretty well summed up. Sad but true isn’t it?
It does resolve on that point Marc, but I wanted to talk about writers and poets really –> the ways we find our motivation; our many reasons and justifications for this wildly insane dedication to words. Because it’s not just that the world is often superficial or shallow. All along we’ve been told to get real jobs, that it’s impossible to live as writers, and yet we insist and persist. All of us ask ourselves why, I reckon. So these are some of the reasons.
Ah, now I can see it completely differently. And it’s not mostly over my head anymore.
Hey Marc,
If you filled in the email field when you posted, I wouldn’t have to keep moderating your comments. Just sayin’
Alec, I didn’t think the poem was about writers until you mentioned it. But now that I do, it takes on a completely different meaning. It sure is a lottery. I like the lines:
the train that leaves 3:13am
in the station of your mind
arriving here tomorrow
in the nowhere of words
great stuff.
Will do Jeff
Exactly spot on Alec, I write similar in a piece ‘Why Do We Do It’ http://markwilliamjackson.com/2009/10/30/why-do-we-do-it/ , which was a response to a piece you wrote in reponse to a post by Simonne Wells. In the piece I wrote we could be doctors or bankers/or deal with the politics of the world,/or the pure mathematics of the universes./Sometimes it would be easier to part a sea/than have to bury another child under the epitaph/‘thank you but space is limited.’
But honestly Alec, what else would we do, I’m too old to rob banks and too young to use them.