UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
MARC GROSS

#1

woke up to an empty bed
again
sheets strewn on the floor
knotted up clothes
trailing to the door
after noon sun blasts baby doll pink curtains

my bowels are howling
through my beerbellybutton
the TV next door has been on full blast for three days
and I remember
banging the wall

my forearms are sore and cut up
and there's some dried streaks
of dark blood on the wall
over the the bed
I can feel the last few drinks swimming
lonely
around my liver
my gut
tight and rotten
and I'm doubled over the toilet
someone just showered
then shit
the floor is covered in invisible
wet
footprints
air is thick with the shit smog
mirror covered in a dripping fog
I struggle
to piss let out a yelp
and it comes slow
my bladder is full
my cock is raw from her

it is Thursday
and rent's due
and the sidewalk
it's buckling under
expanding up
ready for the riots of insects


#2 Fragments

The air stands still now like every fall
and keeps me here. The sun follows me with
it's shadows on earth, like the tar after my feet.
And there is no protection

The streets full of ugliness, the kind only humans perfect.
And that ugly watches through beady eyes
through vile, tight lipped smirks
where I am and my destinations

The white moon dancing leaves no comfort
for emptied souls, burnt out buildings
So I take the colder freezing rain alone
in my room. And try to ease the changes outside

With easy changes inside

. . . I walk intently
staring at the sharp glass and metal
peircing the skyline
trapped in a stench of
garbage and exhaust . . .

I see inhuman acts of volatile men and women . . .
Walk hands clenched around forty ounces of love
Lips pressed tight around cancer
Forearms sore from injections

My mind crawls with disallusion
and hate and love comingling
in some strange union that can only never end

Wind and rain cross my path with such force
all I can do is freeze and cruise
home
to my empty bed and another glazine wrapper
. . . Cause today
the city woke with murder in her mouth


Marc Gross was born in New Haven, CT in 1973.
Currently living in Austin, TX, working as a bartender.
He has previously had poems published in small zines
and lit mags. He enjoys playing/training his dog
Bowie and annoying his wife with his slacker lifestyle.







© 2006 Underground Voices