2
Two stones shook into my two shoes.
They talked to me every two steps.
Sharp jolt to the senses, a little reminder,
“You’re too scared to ever let me go.”
Eventually, they rattled into the bottom of heels too thick from time
And festered, perhaps killed me too.
Two minutes wasted walking past two snoozing hobos.
Two minutes wasted taking too long to cross the street.
Two cars barely miss me. Two seconds too many off.
Two stars hand in a sky too tired to reach out towards me;
And remind me of my too hallow cold feeling too tired to warm itself.
So I turn two blocks east and find two men sitting in a too tired tavern.
Two presidents sat silently tucked in my pocket,
Too young to talk, but hoped to walk with me
To their true purpose;
Paying for something too sad, too defeating.
I sat at the bar too empty to be welcoming.
Two presidents went from my pocket Into the hands of a new man
To give them a truer purpose.
Two blue color drones walked into the too tired tavern.
They barked for two Hamm’s, two shots of rye whiskey too expensive for their two-bit income.
But here they were, leaving a stale metal tinge in the air too thick for me to think.
Two shots; after two beers; after two shots; after two beers.
Those two were too drunk.
Hunting for validation of their too large egos to match their too small insecurities.
I must be too easy or too grey; Too validating.
I was the only person with a sadder life than two greased up Johns.
Because those two blue collar brutes threw two quick punches
That landed on the point of my nose and sprang up to my two eyes.
Two more swings hit two spots on my ribs.
Two slugs smashed into my empty stomach.
Two bops to my two eyes.
Hurt twice more than before.
Two minutes ticked by on the floor with water in my eyes,
Blood pooled in my lungs from two cracks in my nose
Two rocks cut deeper into my two feet
Two cracked ribs; bruised kidneys too.
Laid out like the day-old Tuesday paper I realized I was too tired to care that I still felt pain
After too many years of two in the morning whiskeys.
I was too tired to care that two more Johns walked through the entry door.
Too tired to choke on the thick gulps of blood in my throat.
I waited too long to care
But as life always goes,
You can’t be the one to sleep in a too tired old tavern.
Whatever you say- say nothing
The wind that shakes the barely and then reverberates into the blurred out existence of becoming a culturally insensitive overpriced shot that everyone takes but doesn’t offer you.
You tell yourself you’re against them because of the name.
Like that will stop you from crying in the car feeling as forgotten as an entire country’s resistance.
“I just think that you have and you see, but if you look at it, but hey…yeah”
I have nothing to say but I can’t seem to shut the fuck up.
And this will fault me until everyone around leaves because
All the things I say cause their crowns to crack open and
the truth of their opinions spew back into my eyes
Blinded as my thoughts try to adjust
I keep talking and talking, not knowing how to shut the fuck up.
At least when blind, you can talk to a sea of no one.
And you get a dog sometimes.
So it’s not that bad.