Dumb -Thirsty by Street Poet Monte Smith 

Monte’s writing is a Molotov Cocktail headed straight for the government. His words are on fire.

Photobucket

Another Great Poem by Street Poet Monte Smith

My friends keep telling me I need to go out and cut loose. "Monte, 
come on man... let's go get fucked up, it's going to be great!" But 
sadly for them my response is always the same: "Thanks, but no 
thanks." 

They don't understand I am 'cutting loose' by not going out. 
I'm too old to keep finding myself at two in the morning standing 
sideways in stale beer joints, looking for a joint. Besides, I can't 
stand late night lip service; it's always seasoned with cheap cocaine, 
draft beer and egotism. Not only will bar babble bore the fuck 
out of you, I firmly believe this ceremonial act can give you tumors 
the size of cauliflower. 

The wayward ritual of speaking in tongues and doing key bumps 
in piss-soaked bathrooms night after night, sadly in the name of 
sacrificing reserve notes upon the wooden alter non-believers call 
a bar, is meaningless. There's more to life than digesting hours of 
rotgut and drunken dialogue from a misfit clergy of working class 
stiffs, alcoholics and hustlers, one after the other spilling drinks 
and spewing last minute confessions: "I'm going to stop drinking 
tomorrow"..."I need to get a job"..."Fuck it, let's go back to my house 
and finish this eight ball!" 

I can't help but laugh. I've lost enough mornings face first in strange 
toilet bowls to know I don't want to end up in someone's living room 
after the bar closes, sitting in a mirror passing circle listing to empty 
promises from speed freaks until the booze and drugs run out. The 
problem I have with this 'dumb-thirsty' mentality is, nothing changes. 
No matter what night it is, or in some cases mornings, the smells, 
language and outcome are always the same: semi-grown men and 
women running from a dawn soon coming. 

Have you ever left a closing bar with the intention of going home only 
to find yourself ten minutes later at an after party doing coke with someone 
you barely knew? Or as I use to call it, "last call at the hall of mirrors". 
While there did you ever notice in those amorphous hours how spectacular 
and positive the friendship was, only to find your next encounter with 
the exact same persons or person is awkward or negative. I've even had 
'the next meet' described to me as "dirty". 

Not me. I see it for what it is: a sobering moment of regret and discovery. 
It's fun to go out and get fucked up in the beginning, but it's easy for the 
'beginning' to turn into a lifetime of debauchery and delusion only Charles 
Bukowski could respect. Some of you dumb-thirsty missionaries may think 
I'm over-reacting, but I expect that from animals who have traded reality 
and self-control for fire water and bar-nuts. I know from personal experience 
how easy it is to drown in other people's misery and personal bullshit. Too 
many actors are on the run from reality and warrants in those late night 
rooms of suffering. 

"Monte, come on man... let's go get fucked up, it's going to be great!" 
Yeah, um... thanks, but no thanks!

For More Great Poetry By Monte Smith, Visit him on any of his contacts down below and purchase his fantastic book

http://www.streetpoetmontesmith.com/

http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=4491854

http://www.facebook.com/StreetPoetMonteSmith?ref=mf

http://www.myspace.com/montesmith

http://twitter.com/poetmontesmith

Added by: Watcher, 20/Jan/22 | Comments: 0
comments powered by Disqus

Login form

Statistics

Search


[ Full Size ]

Worth a visit

ads ads ads ads ads ads