Thursday, June 13, 2013


Simply sacrificing my life to try to breathe to live
and in exhalation all I ever truly had is burning still
until the wicks near end
finally sputters then dies the light within.
Not a tear is shed, no one cries not even I
though all see me walking shamed
through the realm physical,
balls cut off, flesh slashed and burned
by dignities last gasp there alive am I, dead, spurned.

I had no, have no choice to the time or place
when my sacrifice was forced upon me.
not that it matters much
for I could not fight it off anymore.
Nothing could stop the trickling
Damn even openly dying while living
everyone is Namaste attuned, self-pickling
as security dutifully hurries as they toss me out the door.

Oh blessed street, I suppose I was blessed
that the day I died. I was wearing a cheap suit
rather than my best. Honestly though?
Between the two I never noticed any difference.
My guess is that in living life’s fermentation
one shreds easier when my ass hit the cement.

Like me, the concrete where now so many reside,
had no pride of fabric or preference.
Oh this classroom life, adult education is learning
you only have so much time, the wick is burning
once that space has been sorely used, from your birth to…
as the flame sput—sput—sput—sputters out.
I am left with my savings paid in memories
of times when a life, my life, had value maybe even worth.

I am fully paid up, not off thank heavens.
Integrity mine owes no liens I desire.
Questions asked and answered
have become rhetorical outdated, uninspired.
I look in my talent show passbook,
to see if my life has been anything more than theatrical.
A tragic comedy for the entertainment of them
who once owned me who—
as soon as I owed them nothing more
threw me away, put me in a living prison
but smelted down the only key to the door.

I could take my keen edged K-Bar
or even my tiny Swiss Steel pocket knife
slit my throat, end it, let go my loose grip on sanity
but I keep foolishly neglecting the noose and rope
for I yet may have some star to see
on which I could place a wee tiny bit
of the little I’ve stashed away of my hope.

© M Durfee


  1. I don't know how you keep coming up with such intensity day after day, man.

  2. keep your hope and if it falls from the sky pick another star...i'd miss you otherwise and those blood stains are hell to get glad you still have your speak in charles said, nice intensity...would be a fun one to hear...

  3. Yeah. Keep it light, Bro


  4. It's a lot easier to wish upon a start at the beginning of one's life than at the end. Something about having the rump of a cheep suit ripped out by pavement abrasion tends to take the wind out of our sails.

  5. Of course you could ... of course I could ... of course we could ... but we don't, do we ... just when we think: "That's enough" ... there is another bend in the road ... let's go check it out, eh? :)

  6. Now that I'm firmly over the hill and in view of my own impending demise...well...that's life and death walking hand in hand, isn't it? This made me feel so so sad, Mark.

  7. Powerfully felt emotions placed upon the screen.
    To coin a phrase, awesome!
    I keep thinking of the punishment I have received for my own breadcrumb sins.
    But awful shit seems to happen to people.
    Even if they ain't done nuthin.

  8. Powerfully put. I too wonder at the sum worth of my life--did I make a difference? Did I help or hinder? Lots to ponder here.

  9. On the other hands, you could catch a cancer: perhaps a fast one like pancreatic, or a slow one like multiple myeloma, like me. Then you would have something definite to look forward to. Oh happy day!

  10. happy fathers day old man...smiles.

  11. Life is just plain old hard and so often painful. And man there is pain a pleanty: spiritual, physical, psychological....hurt is hurt. For those little glimmers of hope...for that...I get up in the morning.

    Just so you know, even though this is intense and dark I like it very much (seems a dumb thing to say about pain and loss): "the concrete...had no pride of fabric..."; "I am left with my savings paid in memories..." "but I keep foolishly neglecting the noose and rope
    for I yet may have some star to see"

    Take care poet-person
    your friend in the desert.

  12. Mark, You are so comfortable with your mortality. But, there would be tears shed. Miss u. xo

  13. exactly so... the next bit could be one of joy

  14. This is far more compelling than the feckless search for Jimmy Hoffa's remains. Keep on keeping on -- as you will ~!

  15. but I keep foolishly neglecting the noose and rope
    for I yet may have some star to see

    Yes, that should keep us going...


So Walking Man I was thinking...