Ode to Absurdity

Consider this, O Muse,
My heart is ill,
My seriousness has gone into the Void
That has devoured my poetic mind,
And all along my head is filled
With flies, with inessential
And trifling things—
Cigars and bottles, canned sardines and bricks,
Cheap whiskey, naughty negligee
And television,
And love is like a scalpel at my throat,
Cutting my jugular at every faint try
To recreate a vision of my darling
Gone in the sweet oblivion of alcohol...

So here I am—the Poet Laureate drunk
In front of all the everyday clichés—
I want a cigarette but I don’t smoke,
And matches can’t ignite my lonely heart,
I see young fellows hitting on some hussy—
She’s like Snow-White
Amidst the seven horny dwarfs,
And their vacant eyes wink at the prospect
Of entering the lonely space
Between her thighs...

Consider this, O Muse,
My body’s tired, my wit is gone,
I have no job, nor goal,
I look inside me and all I find is noise—
Somebody sings: “I’m a creep” inside me,
Somebody laughs: “Your girlfriend is a whore.
I slept with her one thousand times before
Without a condom, sorry...it’s been real.”
While from above the Economy
Is trickling into my mouth
Burning up my tongue,
And I imagine that I’ve gone to Heaven
Where someone shouts:
“You’re a winner and well-hung!”


   August 15, 1993  
--Alexander Shaumyan