lost

Tourist

Some days I feel like a tourist

Right here, in my own town

All the faces of all the people,

Are new to me

All the buildings look out of place

I read street signs,

I swear I never read before

I seem to find new nooks

Behind every corner I look

The same shops I always stop in,

Have all new faces,

Faces which don’t recognize me either

I feel like taking pictures,

Because I feel like I’m in a brand new land

Maybe I should take a tour,

Buy a map,

Or a book on this town’s history

Sometimes I feel the need to get away

And get lost

But on other days,

I truly feel like I am

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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Hey, Man…You Gotta Light?

I sometimes think I was born to lose everything

I feel I waste more time looking for “things”

Than anybody else, in the great wide world

I’ve been a smoker for years

And I never lose my cigarettes

But my lighter?

I can’t seem to keep it

I seem to put it down in the most unusual places

And you would think I’d have more than one

But, no

I only have the one

And, as of right now

As I type this out

I can’t remember where I left it

So my perfectly rolled smoke

Lies dorment and unlit

In my lonely ashtray

I bet I’ll spend the next ten minutes

Searching for that light blue Bic

And, as always, when I do find it

It will be in a place

(Any number of places)

That which little Bic lighters

Are never really suppose to be

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

Always Another Ass For The Chair

I play with the tobacco on the end of my tongue

I stream smoke from my nose, like a midieval dragon

Holding all the castle’s people my hostage

It’s late — about 3:30 am, but I’m not the least bit tired

I feel full of ideas

But there isn’t a computer, typewriter or pen and paper near by

So I will let these thoughts fly by

Quietly losing my next great poem

I don’t really care though

Just like a piece of ass

Who grows tired of me, and leaves

It’s ok

There’s more fish… Yeah, yeah, yeah

I laugh out loud at myself

Boy, the things this old mind thinks up

I try to remember that great poem, but it’s already gone

No worries, no love lost

There’s always another ass for the chair

© Dicky J Loweman 2015

 

This Room

This rooms seems a little too big

Too big for all the shit

The shit I have collected

Collected, then forgotten about

There’s too much to dirty

Too much to clean

Memories get too easily lost

Lost like a phone number

Or a set of keys

Maybe it needs more furniture

To occupy the the void

The darkness

Of this room

Which is just too big

© Dicky J Loweman 2014

Lost

A two-day drive

No one knows I’m here

Never told anybody

Out all alone, just me

And a camera

Without food, without water

Without any direction or sense

Every direction in view gives no answers

East – Sand

North – Dunes

West – Dead brushes

South – Only footprints

I have to move

Keep moving

Keep that wagon wheel turning

So I continue

Left, right, left, right

One foot in front of the other

One foot in front of the next

Got to keep this steady pace

Death is blowing on my neck

The devil reaching for my feet

Got to keep this steady pace

One foot in front of the other

Left, right, left, right

© Dicky J Loweman 2014