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DAN PROVOST
Not Lennon’s Imagine Imagine the death of a man One man. Fighting for his last breath before he succumbs to finality. Imagine a sight The last sight of one in a car-wreck or a cancer patient, or someone who’s just had it and holds a gun to his temple. Imagine hands Not a poet or carpenter’s hands. Only hands that are wanting, Praying Hoping Wanting answers but receiving nothing. We wait and wait and wait while the clock ticks each moment away Every second that cannot be recaptured—every second forgotten while man is wrapped up in his playground creation. Gurble Sense the rambling of two three-piece suits at the bus stop, gurble…gurble…gurble. Conversations add to zero when nothing substantial is said—gurble…gurble…gurble. Small talk is bullshit, a reason to flap your jaw about anything…events no one cares about. Another excuse to justify existence while playing the pathetic game. Flirt with the secretary, lie to your boss, and go to lunch and gurble with your comrades about simulated death. Stroll and gurble…gurble and stroll. All the way to bank, which coincidently--stands next to a graveyard. Dan Provost is 41 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. |
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© 2004 Underground Voices |
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