Planned Obsolescence

Planned Obsolescence 

An autobiographical mourning,

a song written 

in the first person 

to sing, 

a story of a self-educated man

whose genius was something 

you had to work to understand,

a manufacturer’s defect

that a cigarette 

is made for memory

while they all burn out;

a Bic flicked the switch

from a first wife

to a $400 a week motel view,

the bottom of rain clouds are blue

and heavy

as the decision making 

when having a drink

turns from blowing off steam 

to a need

to a demon that has you,

life is a thing

some of us 

pretend to do,

as if the words we choose 

are in sync with the breath inside of you, 

writing meaning thinking

like memories recall bleeding, 

our heroes don’t die,

but are crucified,

because the sacrifice of life

means are dreams beaten down

by the bully of apathy,

a family tree full of faith,

but 

no 

belief, 

to share an idea  

is to run away from home 

to a land that nobody knows,

you’ve seen a light bulb glow,

and in the middle of the night 

they caught me staring, 

depression becomes contagious 

when the virus of unrealized potential 

sits on top of a heart for too long,

a suffocation still,

but no conviction 

when the cause of death 

is suicide of will,

he could look at anything

and tell you how 

to take it apart

and put it back together 

before you finished your beer,

the imagination of youth,

the stamina of middle age,

and the patience

of when you understand your own name, 

but the trouble was when he began to drink

the same desire that lead him to dream

was the thirst that broke the machine,

after tispy and mumbling led to stumbling

he couldn’t rebuild yesterday,

put together tomorrow,

and he was in fear of constructing today;

it’s almost as if 

a man’s strength 

is also his achilles heel.