Self Destruction

I’ve tried to walk the path
Of different drummers who’s
Backbeat never could
Erase the bruises on my
Soul I’ve been neglecting…

And, if I have to be true
To myself…the dagger stains
That I try so hard to hide from
Everybody are beginning to scar…

Meet me halfway at a chanceful
Death…the rhythm along the
Byways of hurt provide the last
Note of secular presence.

But I kind of want to drink the cup of
Hemlock sometimes—and lie face down
In a forgotten mine field.

Where my escape can be private…

Where I’ll never be known…

When my final hours can be somewhat pure yet combustible…

Saturday, June 21’st in Front of the Worcester Library

We are all the seducers
of want…

Waiting for the library to open for that one
opportunity for a
final kill…

Sickness takes the
mind sometimes and reads
isolation as a worthy
place of tranquility…

It never seems
that way however on
a warm June day when
the homeless stagger
and wait…

for a place to rest their

Dan Provost is 44 years old and reads a lot of poetry. Some of his favorites include:
Bukowski, Lyn Lyfshin, RC Edrington, JJ Campbell, and Arthur Rimbald. He has been
published in numerous poetry e-zines and small print magazines.

© 2008 Underground Voices