Overload poem by Mike Glover


I’m tired of being told
That I talk too much when I’m drinking or that
My mood was funky when I tried to say hello,
To tell the truth I am bored with the self absorbed
Sanctimonious punks, each and every one of you
I wish you would just strike your tents and go home.

One day my feet, they are way too big
My clothes are not in style, and
I sound like a hypocrite, so what?
We can wrestle each other, each and every one of us
At dawn in the foggy river bottom
Not ashamed in our nakedness.

No more, the boredom and the retro perfunctory guilt slide show,
That’s all that’s left
For you loosers,
I won’t accept that I’m too old, or too stupid, or too white, or
Too dirty, or undereducated, or too black, or too short, or too male,
Or too primitive, or too sophisticated/overeducated/biased/jaded/stupid.

There is simply nothing left of us my dear old friend we
Have at last become the ends of our own roads
Isn’t that strange?
To walk at last to the edge of this grand stage and look finally out
Beyond yourself
To a dark auditorium.

Be that as it is, I mean we have to agree
This has been an illusion,
But I will not accept their lame excuses and the constant criticism,
In the end all the things they worship will disappear
Long after they do,
Sometimes I wish beliefs simply died with their people.

Not at all, we are energy, we are the atom
Slipping, stepping away from our mortal shells,
The truth is we have been coming to this place forever now
We stand here on the edge, we stare into this abyss
We are afraid of the plunge, we vacillate and waver and pull back against
ourselves
Until there is nothing left to fight.


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