Friday, November 12, 2010

Michael D. Grover


Confessions Of An american Outlaw #23

I realize where I am
Choices I've made
Artist over American
Poet over drone
It's not that I look down on them
I mourn the lost Poems
Eaten by that ugly monster of responsibility
Aborted, ripped out of their bodies
Kept in line by time
Watchdog time clock & security cameras
They killed the fucking Poems
They eat Poems
Breakfast, lunch, & dinner Poems
My father he wanted to be a Poet
Howled with Ginsberg in the sixties
Communist manifesto, & James Kavanagh
He asked me to hold them for him
He may need them back someday
Now they collect dust on my shelf
Because he had a family
Once I was gonna be a father
He screamed at me What are you doing
Because they sucked every Poem right out of him
Every Poem he would ever write
They took them armed in business suits
Hiding in boardrooms
They live off the anxiety of dead Poems
I do understand the choices I've made
& my present condition
I do understand I am not the first
& I wont be the last
To take a stand for what I am
Even if it might mean loosing everything
I do understand this is an eternal struggle
Playing out over and over
I do understand insanity is only
Getting beat down over and over
I forgive you
You can't help the psychosis that was given to you
You could not help the manipulation
Which was survival to you
You could not help it
But it's gone too far
I forgive you
Though you chose to run off with a needle
And my twenty bucks
Because you couldn't take the World
You were too beautiful for it
There were Poems inside you
That they killed like babies
But you couldn't take care of your own son
& I loved you because I saw Poems in you
I didn't realize they were dead Poems
& you were doin' that dance, that survival shuffle
I forgive you
Layin' in the bed
Sweaty in the summer
Reading about the beats all day
As outside
The sky grows dark & rumbles
Everyone is holy
But they won't be enlightened
They all have dead Poems inside of them
Everyone is drug down by the weight of now
& every moment they've lived before now
It accumulates on their backs
Like dead weight
& you can't even save yourself

For Politics

There are politics in everything
& nothing is fun anymore
Even where you live
This craft that you love
Even this Poem

Before we knew
It used to be fun
When we laughed & played
When we were children
No cares
Then we started to see it
Lurking behind everything
They took it all away
One thing at a time
Politics behind everything
Politics behind politics
& we wished we didn't know
Because it killed the World
Blatant, rubbing your nose in it
Crowd reacts like well trained dogs
It's all breaking down
None of these systems have ever worked
Breeding corruption
Where you work
Where you live
What's your party
If I could live without them
Mediocre & safe
All about money
People in positions of power
It's who you know

Politics has nothing
To do with art
With this Poem
Yet it still persist
Like a thorn in the foot

For Time

Think of what it's taken from you
Wasted days
Wasted nights
Wasted years
Wasted Poems
Poems that were aborted
Poems you scribbled down
Quick on break
Born in captivity
Time wasted
Time is money
It's not your time
It's their time
Clock & it's flat white face
Mechanical hands
Always movin'
Time is mechanical
Clock waits for you to punch in
Punch out
So you can rest & do it again
It's overwhelming

Now you've got
Too much on your hands
Too much idle time
& it seems you get
Nothing done
& you've got no resources
To do anything
If you wanted to
Movies in the library are free
You go every Wednesday
But you've watched so many
That it's hard find them anymore
Each week you come back with less
This week it's down to three
Clock watches you watch them
Flat black face
Red digital numbers
No arms or legs
Mechanically ticking away
Wasting away your life
It watches you as you sleep
Wake up
It knows what time it is
No alarms to go off
Only function time
& you barely look at it
Mechanically moving on
Springs forward
Falls back
Never sleeps or takes a break

Food Stamp Day

I get a little crazy on food stamp day
When yesterday I was hungrier than I remember
When the employment rate doesn't look better
When the news still tries to feed you optimism
When your bank account is way in the red
When you get so poor there's nothing to do
When you've always got friends no matter what you do
When you took them with you today tonight you all eat good

I get a little crazy on food stamp day
Spent about half of it on luxury stuff
Perhaps that's why you'll be starving by the end of the month
Tonight you're gonna eat like the president does
& that's all that matters right now
There are pistachios, & cashews
Humus, pita chips carrot juice
Veggie burgers, & veggies
Pierogies, garlic, & sour cream
Waffles, butter, & syrup
Chocolate chunk cookies

I get a little crazy on food stamp day
& become a shopaholic
I shop till I drop
Heart & mind race down kroger isles
& the body follows
& I'm sure by next month I'll be hungry
Because I get a little crazy on food stamp day

Michael D. Grover is a Florida born poet. As a wanderer he's traveled and lived all over the country. He currently lives in Toledo, Ohio.
His poetry has been published all over the literary underground. Michael currently is a resident artist at
the Collingwood Art Center in Toledo. He hosts a monthly reading with John Dorsey at a local coffee shop.
He runs the Covert Press. His newest chapbook is titled "Confessions Of An american Outlaw". Michael is the current head poetry editor at

1 comment:

nadine sellers said...

so, michael, i find you here now...and in my underground thoughts..i am the dust off the stars that sprinkle the path to the book i keep chasing down life's alleys and valleys. so, michael, nice meeting you here in anyma..nadine sellers