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Terrible burrs thrown at me today,
tanked smell from a brain that is yellow-green
from years of various kinds of abuse.

My stack approaches me but it whispers,
“You are a modern idiot.” And I agree.
I sink in the chair trying not to hurt my back,
then trying to warp it out of shape,
twist a bit of agony up from the tired leather
to a brain that cannot channel in on anything.

Spared of green slobber this morning,
I decide it is appropriate for me to do the thing
where one step follows the other.
“Why do I have a conscience?
All it does is fuck with me.”

Why am I conscious?
It is better for me to float down the stream.
The stream is polluted,
causing fear in me,
but I think I have died before.

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  1. #1 by carldagostino on June 13, 2011 - 10:48 am

    What is your stack – bag of trouble? Was not able to interpret this one satisfactorily

    • #2 by Carl on June 13, 2011 - 4:37 pm

      It could be anything, and I love the different views. Really, it’s all of the stuff I haven’t done that I should have done. It’s all of the stuff I don’t know that I should know. It’s all the great books that I haven’t read that I should have read…

      Should, should, should……………..

  2. #3 by Indigo Spider on June 13, 2011 - 11:49 am

    I interpreted stack as “work”, a combination of office work coming at you but also the work of life, of mind fucks, of depression, of all the shit that just stacks up against you reminding you what an idiot you really are. I love the conscience/conscious word play. I probably misinterpret all your poems but I love them anyway, they seem to “get me”.

    • #4 by Carl on June 13, 2011 - 4:38 pm

      Your comment means the world. It’s a wonderful accident they “get you.” Or maybe I’m not as unique as I think I might be…

  3. #5 by Kay Camden on June 13, 2011 - 11:59 am

    I also see the stack as the daily grind. X number of unread email messages. You click the first one, and someone has used the phrase “are increasingly expanding”. How else can something expand? If this isn’t something that can turn a brain yellow-green, then I don’t know what is.

    • #6 by Carl on June 13, 2011 - 4:39 pm

      Yes, yes, yes. Thank you for your comment.

  4. #7 by liv2write2day on June 13, 2011 - 12:35 pm

    Your words convey to me a sense of fuitility and being fed up with the way things are. Agree with Indigo…you do “get to” people.

    • #8 by Carl on June 13, 2011 - 4:43 pm

      Thank you, Victoria. I have brief moments of fatigue.

  5. #9 by carldagostino on June 13, 2011 - 4:42 pm

    I understand. I’ll be 62 on the 18th and it is like all the years I should have lived.

    • #10 by Carl on June 13, 2011 - 4:56 pm

      But you are doing it so well now!

  6. #11 by seabell on June 14, 2011 - 7:27 am

    This is the best poem I read from you… Any living being who one day felt tired and bored can relate. I love parts of it, still I won’t tell which ones because I love the whole the same way.

    • #12 by Carl on June 16, 2011 - 12:02 am

      Thanks so much for your comment. Your assessment is flattering.

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