Friday, March 14, 2008

Michael Grover

Trane Blew

Smooth like Trane
Blowin' chaos
Translated to sanity.

What is art
But organized chaos?
Sometimes organized
Better than others.
Always struglin'
Fighting to be free.
Take this to forget,
The real american dream.
Come rich man,
Come poor man,
Come privileged whiteness,
Or darker oppressed.

Trane blew,
Through all of the madness.
Money sickness,
True american religion.

Trane blew,
Through everything
To help him forget.
Which ultimately led to kidney failure.

Trane blew,
Everyone but himself.

Trane blew,
All the way to the grave.

He survives,
In headphones of this walkman.
In the middle of a noisy coffee shop.
Trane blew.


Spit my sorrow in the sink.
Whats a little blood to a Poet?
I return to my room
Jazz piped though
Cable that we just got
But we cant afford.
What is with this american need
That eats at me like hunger pains?

Tip of pen meets page.
Whats a little blood to a Poet?
Write with pressure,
Little wasted movement.
Ive got a sickness in me.
Ive got lethargy.
I am writing it out.
I am sweating it out.
I am writing so hard that I sweat.

Who am I to fall in love anyway?
Only a distraction from the work Im doing.
Temporary illusion.
Distraction from
The real world of concrete and asphalt.
The world a Poet should always stay grounded in.

I walked into the matrix
Perfectly aware that everything was an illusion.
Still I came out of it wounded.
Maybe I fall too fast.
I do crash.
I just follow natural instinct.
I refuse to conform
To a mechanical world
Where people where lifejackets into relationships,
And nice guys finish last.

I have not forgotten what I am.
Not perfect
But perfectly hu-man.
I will trust again.
I will love again.
I will probably be hurt again.
Still I would not wear protection,
Cant afford the insurance.
Maybe I need a break.
Maybe there is nothing wrong with the rest of the world
Just with me.

Loving In the Class War

Every day.
Every minute.
Every breath.
The rent was hangin over us.
Utilities were hangin over us.
Getting food was hangin over us.
Beer money was hangin over us.
Extra money for the movies
Was hangin over us.
Everything was hangin over us
Just like a dark cloud.
We were livin in the class war.
Survivin in the class war.
We were livin in the class war.
But we were living.

We were loving every night,
Laying sweaty.
I would go to work the next day
Smellin like pussy.
I could still smell you.
It got me through the day.
Evening on the fire escape
Watching the sun set on the hills.
Then when the sun was gone,
I would watch the bats dance in the sky.
You were always scared of bats.
We were livin in the class war.
Survivin in the class war.
We were livin in the class war.
But we were living.


Anonymous said...


Michael is always a good read, thanks for posting him.

John Dorsey

Bruce Hodder said...

Hey, these fellows make me look good.