This is a poem I wrote which is part of a here-to-fore unpublished novel called Shadows and Revelations. Jerry Gilchrist is a character in my novel.
buzzing
spinning
almost drunk
but it’s not enough
weight pulls
the weight of too much time
wasted
of loss
of fear
and the crushing weight
of having to live my life
in my skin
concert posters – taped
on the wall
my desk in the corner –
my poetry littering the top
outside my window a night
of promises – unfulfilled
Charlie Parker wonks for me
and I thank him silently
for the notes
sometimes I feel
like such a fake
living my life
as though I were not this
miserable soul
who lies on his bed
drinking rum
shirt off
listening to
dead jazz men
and trying to figure out
where it all went wrong
it began with Ethan
but that is not
the whole story
after Ethan
the pier
and college
and the city
and Shadow Man
and highways
and beaches
and Gana
and Kevin
and Joey
but all of that seems
a fiction to me now
gay!
I think suddenly
and remembering
my love for Ethan
wonder if perhaps
I am
but then I decide
I would be
as miserable
gay as I am
straight
my room spins
faster
more insanely
and I don’t dare
stand up
the rum is almost
gone
and the cd is nearing
the last track
a tickle on my cheeks are the
tears
and now sobs
wrack my body
my phone mocks me
with silence – I take the
receiver off the hook
and drop it on the floor
the dial tone turns into
a fast signal of alert
I ignore it
I feel myself going into blackness
I wish it were death
perhaps it is
my stomach lurches
to let me know
I am still alive
I imagine dying
choking on my own
puke
what a punk rock
thing to do
Kevin would be proud
morbid thoughts
and I know it’s not
what I want
my life to be
morbid thoughts
and I know tomorrow I will
wake up
put on a happy face
and go out into
the world
I close my eyes – big mistake –
the sense is I am
on one of those playground
merry-go-rounds
and I now I think I
might puke
take the last sip
of my rum
now warm
room temperature and
watered down by the
condensation from the glass
“Ethan!”
I cry
but the ghost
who once haunted me
is silent these days
as if ashamed to see
what I have become
loss
lost
out
black
Copyright 2005 Joe Wolfe-Mazeres
A poem by Jerry Gilchrist – circa 1991
my room
my place
Charlie Parker on my cd player
and a frozen glass – filled
with rum from the freezer
leaving a ring
on my bedside table
staring upmy place
Charlie Parker on my cd player
and a frozen glass – filled
with rum from the freezer
leaving a ring
on my bedside table
buzzing
spinning
almost drunk
but it’s not enough
weight pulls
the weight of too much time
wasted
of loss
of fear
and the crushing weight
of having to live my life
in my skin
concert posters – taped
on the wall
my desk in the corner –
my poetry littering the top
outside my window a night
of promises – unfulfilled
Charlie Parker wonks for me
and I thank him silently
for the notes
sometimes I feel
like such a fake
living my life
as though I were not this
miserable soul
who lies on his bed
drinking rum
shirt off
listening to
dead jazz men
and trying to figure out
where it all went wrong
it began with Ethan
but that is not
the whole story
after Ethan
the pier
and college
and the city
and Shadow Man
and highways
and beaches
and Gana
and Kevin
and Joey
but all of that seems
a fiction to me now
Kevin lives nearby and
I see him fairly often but
things aren’t the same
Gana is still mad
about our last
encounter
and Joey
is off being
gay
I wish I wereGana is still mad
about our last
encounter
and Joey
is off being
gay
gay!
I think suddenly
and remembering
my love for Ethan
wonder if perhaps
I am
but then I decide
I would be
as miserable
gay as I am
straight
my room spins
faster
more insanely
and I don’t dare
stand up
the rum is almost
gone
and the cd is nearing
the last track
a tickle on my cheeks are the
tears
and now sobs
wrack my body
my phone mocks me
with silence – I take the
receiver off the hook
and drop it on the floor
the dial tone turns into
a fast signal of alert
I ignore it
I feel myself going into blackness
I wish it were death
perhaps it is
my stomach lurches
to let me know
I am still alive
I imagine dying
choking on my own
puke
what a punk rock
thing to do
Kevin would be proud
morbid thoughts
and I know it’s not
what I want
my life to be
morbid thoughts
and I know tomorrow I will
wake up
put on a happy face
and go out into
the world
I close my eyes – big mistake –
the sense is I am
on one of those playground
merry-go-rounds
and I now I think I
might puke
take the last sip
of my rum
now warm
room temperature and
watered down by the
condensation from the glass
“Ethan!”
I cry
but the ghost
who once haunted me
is silent these days
as if ashamed to see
what I have become
loss
lost
out
black
Copyright 2005 Joe Wolfe-Mazeres
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