Poem #10--Pipe Dream
PIPE DREAM
I know this little place down on Third, right past the traffic
light constellation; every now and then, as the evening
wind blows, I drift to that sad destination.
I let down my guard in that shadowy place, feel the tears fill
my eyes as the smile leaves my face. At the Pipe Dream,
a platter of memories and a pitcher of tears is the thing.
Chew on some sorrow, self-pity's an art, cry in the pool room,
sob over darts--it's okay, everyone here feels the same.
Life is a luxury, living's a dream--survival is nothing
but blowing off steam in this dark room; the Pipe Dream's
a bitter success.
Lovely ladies I pass on the street; no handsome bravado, no
chance that I'll meet one and tell her, "You are so divine".
We've all got our problems of various sorts, my problem is
I have none to report--for to lose love you first must have
something to lose.
So I sit here by minute, from hours grow days, and the
years gone behind me are wrapped like a maze--I have nothing,
and no one to share it with.
I'm sitting in back at my table for one, I'm all alone in the
Pipe Dream. I'm waiting for someone to join me for drinks,
I'll be here a while (till the reaper announces last call
for the night).
Believe me, my dearies, my heart is in pieces, broken by
no one at all; defused and confused, my love lies unused--
on the Pipe Dream's hardwood floor.
Deaf from the silence, I twist in the wind like a corpse in a
storm on the sea; a maniac dwells in my personal Hell,
and the Pipe Dream is dark as a grave.
Time is so slow in this cavernous place; time moves so
quickly in life's little race. Time has been ticking inside
of my head--time will be ticking long after I'm dead.
The Pipe Dream won't close till I'm ready to leave, and when
I come back the next time I won't need a key-- 'cause
the Pipe Dream's a hangout for losers like me. It's
haunted, it's scary, but the drinks are all free.
As for this life, this is all I can say--
Love me the next time, like the wind loves the rain.
Love me for trying in spite of the pain.
Love me and hold me, no matter how long...
because down at the Pipe Dream they're singing my song.
I know this little place down on Third, right past the traffic
light constellation; every now and then, as the evening
wind blows, I drift to that sad destination.
I let down my guard in that shadowy place, feel the tears fill
my eyes as the smile leaves my face. At the Pipe Dream,
a platter of memories and a pitcher of tears is the thing.
Chew on some sorrow, self-pity's an art, cry in the pool room,
sob over darts--it's okay, everyone here feels the same.
Life is a luxury, living's a dream--survival is nothing
but blowing off steam in this dark room; the Pipe Dream's
a bitter success.
Lovely ladies I pass on the street; no handsome bravado, no
chance that I'll meet one and tell her, "You are so divine".
We've all got our problems of various sorts, my problem is
I have none to report--for to lose love you first must have
something to lose.
So I sit here by minute, from hours grow days, and the
years gone behind me are wrapped like a maze--I have nothing,
and no one to share it with.
I'm sitting in back at my table for one, I'm all alone in the
Pipe Dream. I'm waiting for someone to join me for drinks,
I'll be here a while (till the reaper announces last call
for the night).
Believe me, my dearies, my heart is in pieces, broken by
no one at all; defused and confused, my love lies unused--
on the Pipe Dream's hardwood floor.
Deaf from the silence, I twist in the wind like a corpse in a
storm on the sea; a maniac dwells in my personal Hell,
and the Pipe Dream is dark as a grave.
Time is so slow in this cavernous place; time moves so
quickly in life's little race. Time has been ticking inside
of my head--time will be ticking long after I'm dead.
The Pipe Dream won't close till I'm ready to leave, and when
I come back the next time I won't need a key-- 'cause
the Pipe Dream's a hangout for losers like me. It's
haunted, it's scary, but the drinks are all free.
As for this life, this is all I can say--
Love me the next time, like the wind loves the rain.
Love me for trying in spite of the pain.
Love me and hold me, no matter how long...
because down at the Pipe Dream they're singing my song.
posted by Tom at 7:34 PM
1 Comments:
I wrote this in the late fall of 1993. I was at Marshall University and my mature poetic skills had just awakened. This is one of my all-time "classics", although the audience in question is only myself. It shows signs of an immature melodrama that is inherent in most 19-year-olds, but it is good in my opinion. The "Third" mentioned in the poem is 3rd Avenue in Huntington, WV. There is no bar down there, and my main walking ground was 4th Avenue, but there is a string of traffic lights on Third that I saw while walking and that is the "Third" in this poem. The perspective and mood comes from one of my frequent lonely walks around one of the blocks of the Marshall campus. I would leave my dorm (Hodges Hall) and go down to the corner (by Laidley Hall) and start up the sidewalk (running along Third) and make a circuit. If I was really depressed or restless I would go around several times, whether it was hot or in the dead of winter. I remember singing a Judas Priest song called "Dreamer Deceiver" and I would stop singing if I saw anyone approaching from afar.
Anyhoo, it is obvious that most of my poems are about alienation or social inadequacy. That's who I am, I suppose. I was a very lonely human being during my stay at Marshall. Ghastly lonely. It should be obvious that I had no girlfriend while I was there. I had very few friends. I had three, in fact, the whole time I attended there (three years), and I didn't see any of them very much at all. That was the hardest period of my life, to be sure. But Huntington provided me with some memories that will never fade away. I haven't seen it since I left the college in 1995, and I'll probably never go back. It is haunted, to me. I can see myself in my mind, walking down lonely Fourth Avenue to the "Second Time Around" used music store, or to the Keith Albee Theater to watch a lonely movie by myself in a BEAUTIFUL old theater. Not to mention my beloved bookstore even further down the line. I would walk past Chili's restaurant(or was it Chi-Chi's?)and see all the nubile young college idiots having a good time and I very much envied them but had no idea how to blend in with them. To be perfectly frank, I hadn't recovered from the death of my stepfather, Archie, and the Pipe Dream and many other poems are testament to that.
Post a Comment
<< Home