the joke

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    the joke

    as i sit here alone in this crowded room full of smoke,  everyones laughing, but i dont get the joke, their lips are all moving, yet i cant hear a thing, and my eyes now are burning as someone blows out a ring, where the hell am i anyhow? how did i arrive here? the stench here is sickening, smells like week old flat beer. am i dreaming or waking, is it daytime or night? in one corner, its snowing, to my left, no my right. i would ask but i dare not, they might think me insane. all these damned happy people, dont they know im in pain? as i sit here alone, in this crowded room full of smoke, everyones laughing, but i dont get the joke. but i dont get the joke, no i dont get the joke. i scream.

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    lysal’s Poems (2)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    the joke 0
    12 minute high 3