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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "ON A WOODEN BAR" I can't sleep and on these nights, I stare into the closet and look at hangers with no clothes. it's dark but I can still see them not serving any purpose. I can hear the clouds move and the moon cry, and tonight, there is a shrunken man on my bookshelf, sitting, legs moving back and forth. I turn over, I can't see his face but I can hear him. "you @#$%^&' fool!" but I don't respond. instead, I listen to the bombs explode after falling from my eyes, I feel the pain in my legs that keep me from moving, I feel the pill I took to sleep kicking in. sleep is an escape... but only a temporary one. she's coming over tomorrow and I'll forget that I have no food, no rent, no drink, that she left me while I loved her, no life in me but the sickness that keeps me writing. inside this small room with Tchaikovsky and the ceiling, heartache found me for the third time in this city. tonight I must go to work. it's the graveyard shift, I'll be in hell. but in the morning the drive over to her place will be a blur and my swollen eyes will try to take in all there is. the shrunken man is gone now and the ticks from my clock went up as if someone turned up it's volume. there's a triangle on my ceiling and a mouth with a tongue and a mouth with a nose that laughs. maybe the square cover with the sharp points over my light bulbs will fall from an earthquake and impale me. but who am I kidding? glass doesn't cut metal. I’m a hanger serving no purpose. By: Chicano Eddie
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