better things


She talks to me
about poems, and then, how her
husband makes her come
every time they fuck.

He is unique in
every orgasm,
he crafts her, tender in mem’ry
and to her
that is better than a poem.

She talks to me
about how on some nights she
waits until he is sleeping
and slips out of their
bed , into her car

and finds
the southbound highway or
some rural route, an
Indiana backroad, or south
down 25 and
just drives through the
blackness to the dawn

and she smokes a cigarette
and thinks of me and
to her that is
better than a poem.

She talks about her
loneliness and she says
loneliness is better than
poems because loneliness
is a very honest place
to be.

This entry was published on 03/16/2012 at 1:39 am and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

8 thoughts on “better things

  1. Pingback: Straightforward Poems for Straightforward People « tarnation and eudemonia

  2. Anonymous on said:

    Will have to reread a few times
    Back after sunrise,
    can say though, I met this woman…

  3. Anonymous on said:

    I like this, maybe she is just not being loved…thank you, hans kreher

  4. There are always better things, I guess. It just depends on the point of view from which you look at them, or the circumstances that make you think of them. Some nights, having sex is a better thing, other nights being loved for who you are is. I like her, because she is lonely and I can identify with lonely people.

  5. Very wise. Very real. Very you.
    Good stuff, Schrody!

  6. abdulbencamel on said:

    If Artaud was alive and living on the edge of an American poetic suburbia, and not waking surrounded by the Tarahumara, and had become acquainted with certain social reflexologies – maybe took up circular breathing techniques for his extended improvs.., his own honesty might have taken a less hazardous fork in the road. Good one, Sebastien 😉

  7. largemargeuk on said:

    There are always better things, I think.

  8. Poems, like yours, comment on those better things, and that’s what makes them indispensable. I’m not on her drive through the blackness to the dawn, but I have seen it and felt it because of a poem. Good work.

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