Fade Away Gently, Lover by Jason Robinson

she was the love
of my life, but
I love her no more
she was a woman
of many names-
hops and grains
distilled potatoes
(cheap) sweet red wine
she was a whore
I wanted be the next
bukowski
henry miller
hemingway
locked in a seamy room
with a bottle
and a notebook
no money
no self-esteem
in the bowels of L.A.
sometimes I could stop
for days or weeks
but she always
seduced me again
back to the liquid
amber death
to the blackouts
the stinking sheets
the extended crying jags
balled up on the floor
in the fetal position
dying on many levels
the hangovers rough
and one cold
carolina winter she got me
the D.T.’s
sweating while freezing
viloent shakes and vomiting
the walls covered
with insects that simply
were not there
for days thinking
that I was dying
I laid my lover to
rest on that frosty day
praying never to be
a ressurection

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five poems by Jason Robinson

Resilience

human beings
drown their sorrows
in various ways
it torments my soul
not to sleep
restless am I
at the witching hour
choking slightly
branches fall
ideas form randomly
the wallaby pounces
the deer jumps
out of the woods
into oncoming traffic
there are fatalities
lives are shattered
by a freak of nature
yet we soldier on
plunged into numbness
partakers of bitter poison
like automatons
we mask the pain
we surrender completely

Sometimes

I would
rather see
a film alone
at times
when the boy
does not get
the girl
or the good
guy dies
at the end
morose and
thoughtful
I wax poetic
as I leave
the theatre
and drive
to the
all-night
supermarket
and ponder
whether
next week’s
breakfast
will consist
of English muffins
or bagels
sometimes
the fai ry tale
is desirable
when the boy
gets the girl
and the good
guy lives
it just doesn’t
really happen
that way much

The New Moon Café

clad in ray bans
jean shorts and backpack
iPod adorned I arrive
at The New Moon Café
my town’s hipster dive
at the intersection of
Richland and Laurens
world music blaring
the coffee an organic blend
I see a bumper sticker
it says Tybee Island bomb squad
the free speech zone where
old newspapers go to die
and the wall is covered
with signs from every
liberal democratic candidate
the counter guy has on
a faux event staff t-shirt
and the cook looks
strikingly like Che Guevara
just lacking beret and AK-47
the hardwood floors
hold antique furniture
the paintings say Jeffrey Hair
and North Aiken Elementary
the tea sweet and anti-sweet
I sit and write on this
ninety-six degree day
very deep in Carolina
and all is justified
when I see the sign:
break the chains-
shop independent stores
and it all finally makes sense

Ambulance Ride

the double doors
of the ambulance closed
going from one hospital
to another
a non-emergency
a nuisance
a drain on the system
out on sunset boulevard
the bright day dawns
illuminating the Hollywood sign
reminding me of failure
and of deception
I arrive at the madhouse
on a ridge overlooking the city
in whose bosom lies bedlam
and unrest
soon I will return home
beaten down and defeated
the city will remain
her web ever sticky
waiting just waiting to consume

Introversion

Through melancholy backwoods
These words transport me
Drawing different conclusions
To fragmented rhythms
To a modicum of sentimental madness
And of reverie unrestrained
I charge you with redemptive superpowers
Descend now from the pinnacle
Of your highest aspiration
Bow to the chilling call of aloneness
Eat and drink from the gut of humanity
Capitulate in all matters pecuniary
Surrender the body revolt with the soul
The angels of the abyss beckon
Jump