“I’ve been in the trenches of the soul”
This living has been so crammed and heavy that this poem seems obligatory.
My story needs its narrator again, and finally, here I am,
writing empty quotations for a title to another freshie chapter.
That last one took a while to conclude, but standing here in this first snow,
I know I’ve been absolved.
I can produce less of these patchwork soul spills and return to form:
Gonzo, Beat, course; what you all want.
I’ll raise the millennial sigil proud, I know potential when I see it.
With our sure footed voices and rapid keystrokes, we will fight against the repetition of history.
Against the suboxone social staff infection, against the freak love of
consuming spending capitalizing idolizing fetishizing panderizing oligarchy,
against boundaries of space sound sex and race, against willful ignorance by
the solo flyers who deny the togetherness.
Seven years so far. As I gaze at my world, Boston, I see it much as I did at the onset.
Thousands of hipsters and suits and wooks and gangbangers
and educators and coworkers and customers and friends
and ladies I have touched and traded arguments and glares
and songs and advice and papers and shifts and ounces and love
and orgasms. In mad sick sniffling smog night, the girls with their onyx tights
and malachite handbags and garnet boots are looking for some recognition.
The boys with their kyanite jeans and ruby ties and tourmaline hoodies are
hoping to find a love like their mother’s. Little children awake past their bedtime
act out Nintendo worlds with spinning sword slashing leg sweep combos,
battling our lingering demons too close for us to know ourselves.
I’ve climbed from ruin, I’ve lain in bed with despair, I’ve made promises kept,
I’ve completed my degree, I’ve kept the same job for a year, I’ve picked up where I left off,
I’ve had to go my way, I’ve raged sober, I’ve thought of you quite often,
I’ve been in the trenches of the soul and it’s been a beautiful battle.