UNDERGROUND VOICES MAGAZINE/DAN PROVOST

DAN PROVOST

Living in the City

Eyes never meet.
Some old man at Dunkin Donuts talks to himself about how he has met the
Devil and how his Master’s degree from Holy Cross in Biology helped him
defeat evil.

People waking the streets, constantly looking over their shoulder.
Graffiti.
Urine in elevators.
Whores.
Homeless with signs claming they will work for food or money.
Sadness.
Violence.

This is not what I negotiated when I separated from my wife and began living
in the city, but I should of known that everything is not related to pine
trees, whiffle ball games, and waves that rattle the shore.

The ocean, which shows it’s unheralded strength during the few times I have
seen it these past few years--is now so far away from my journey to death
that I cannot even appreciate the beauty of the blue encompassing water.

So I continue to walk down broken avenues, avoiding the homeless who sleep
in the park near my apartment building.

Hoping to not step on a crack to break my mother’s back.

Steering clear of broken whiskey bottles, used condoms, and vomit.

Staring at the concrete…hoping someday to find my way back home.

Nihilist Funeral

Mutant teeth continue to rot
under decaying graves that
have scribbled names and dates
that are barely readable.

Broken pieces of gravel align the
final resting place of so many
who died with no remorse, no mourners
and no one to call dad, mom, husband or wife.

The preamble of their eulogy must
have been brief and full of quotes
from the bible, while stragglers
who did attend the service waited
with ragged coats and ravaged hunger,

hoping to be fed by the priest after the body has been belted into the
ground.

Finally a falling of light snow begins to fall from the sky—and the body,
now underneath six feet of dirt, begins its journey of decomposer.

On the Night Before My 43 Birthday

I dreamt I was a syringe filled with addicted death.
I woke up screaming, “thank god it was only a dream”.

Then I though, “God damn it, I’ve been had”.

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.