Too Many To Choose From

I have
Hundreds of books
On several
Ultra-fancy
Walmart bookshelves
Here in the mansion
And I don’t feel like
Reading a one of them
And most of them
Would be fine
To read
Would bring hours
Of escape
But I can’t choose just one
And nothing really strikes
My bored fancy.

I wonder if that’s how
An old but still
Rich playboy
Would feel, surrounded
By a bevy of women
Young and middle-aged
No old bats,
He thanks you very much!

And they all look
Just fine
And no doubt would feel
Fabulous
Wrapped around him
But he can’t make up his mind
To pick just one
So he sneaks off to
The furthest guest bathroom
And jerks off
To the memory
Of the glowing face
He saw from his limo
Earlier that day
She was walking from one no-tell
Motel room
To another
To swap clean sheets
For jizzy ones
And she was young enough
That her dreary life
Hadn’t yet beat her
All the way down.

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This entry was posted in Depression, Poetry, Reading and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Too Many To Choose From

  1. Anna says:

    HEY MAN, HOW’S IT GOING? I absolutely love this poem; it’s irreverent and gloomy all at once. If it helps at all, I put my books in a list and just read them in that order. That way I don’t need to think about it and there’s no feelings involved. One day I’ll wake up and won’t feel anything at all… and won’t that just feel wonderful.

    • Hi, you, thanks for stopping by and saying hi. I’m very glad you loved the poem. I’m wondering if you put your books in a list all at one time, and have to “re-list” them if you happen to buy a new one? I sometimes wish I wasn’t a loser who can’t get a date and had a “book-lovin'” girlfriend who would just say, “Here, this is the book you should start now; now quit shuffling the books around on the headboard and read this so that I can get to sleep.”
      I took some antidepressants briefly, and got a little relief at times, but I just can’t stand the side effects. And, you know? I almost feel like I’ve reached the point, of not feeling anything, all on my own sometimes. I love your writing , Anna, and I hope you have found some relief from your demons (though the demons can be a “driver” sometimes, can’t they?).
      Oh, and I’ve wanted to take a boring, cold, snowy Saturday sometime soon, get impaired, pull all the books I own off the shelves, stack them in piles in the living room, then alphabetize them on the shelves. Then what: read from A to Z?

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