Cutting Cards 1st edit

[Vistaldust]

"Cutting Cards"

Catatonic is safe,
but It's me who wears
the dead fur.
I cannot howl anymore.
No more edge in winning
the high-minded marathon.
Books no longer set ablaze.
Tails no longer wag me stiff.
Now I sit calmly at the
Secretary of State like
other plain-faced fucks,
acting like the music
doesn't really suck, and
maybe I'll sip latte' and
watch Wheel of Fortune tonight.

They miss some of the old
music my mind could play:
the popular songs that came
close enough to the edge to
make them laugh and
fornicate in their pants just
enough not to explode - as if,
as if, as if.

I stacked two here,
dropped one there,
played dice at the lonely
casino on the edge of town,
always losing more than
my neurons afford.
Looking down at the
bottom of the well, I
remember the shark that
almost ate me.
Refill.

Can't provide a line by line but I get the feeling this about not being able to feel the rush of passion. Wheel of fortune sticks out as a salient image. I would suggest describing the lonely casino at the edge of town. Bukowski wrote a poem called roll the dice you might want to check it out on YouTube if you haven't heard the poem before. Was howl a Ginsberg reference?

Yes, Brownie. It was a Ginsberg reference....not because I am a "great mind of my time", but because like those inspiring minds, I have to be contained (in my case, by meds), and that containment has dulled all the senses. If you look at the post above, I've explained my true intentions of the poem.