Midnight At The Crossroads

Poem By Michael Norton

Who do I think I am?
What right to I have to think about what I am thinking about?
I’m I some sort of righteous, all-knowing being who has yet to fail,
Yet to scar myself
Yet to wake up in a cold sweat, knowing that I had dreamed about it again
Yet to watch a movie and be a character I see
Yet to scream at nothing
Of course I am not
I am an unshaven, jeans-wearing, throw back to a time in which I didn’t even live
A hypocritical cynical pessimistic naysayer who could find fault in a beautiful day
I look at things in my life and I belittle them
I am a debaser
I trust almost no one
I believe almost nothing
I turn good things into bad things before the good things have a chance
To turn bad on their own terms
I spew out arguments and counterarguments and countercounterarguments
As if that was my job
I try to be a bohemian
I try to be a beat
I try to be an intellectual
I should try to stop
Stop trying to read the right books
Watch the right films
Listen to the right artist
While I am in the right mood
I should be able to yell certain four letter words in public
I should be able to say what I want to people
I should be able to be gratified when I want
People tell me, things happen for a reason
I’d like to tell them a four letter word
So what
So what if I’m writing this at night
So what if I might not feel this way tomorrow
The next day
Or the day after that
So what if most problems are only in my mind
And almost all of those problems I create
So what if I haven’t seen that movie
So what if I didn’t “understand” that book
If you think this “poem” is about you, it might not be
If you don’t think this “poem” is about you, it probably is

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Other poems of NORTON

Confessions Of A Subway Rider

Little man in a downtown station,
Reaching for a ticket stub,
Walks through the stile,
But his coat gets stuck in the gears.

H0me

I think I’ll go home but where is that?
When your heart is nothing less then a trap,
And your feelings orbit somewhere out in space.
And your mind still lingers on that simple question of faith.

Life In A Glass Box

Life in a glass box,
Is wiser lived in solitude,
Take it from a man, who knows,
The depths of which you fall.

The Appearance Of A Line

I’m looking for a villain
Someone close enough, so that I can end my problems
Everything is getting hazy,
Lines appear that were never here before

The People That I Know Or The Story Of The Find

I took a walk
A single sentence with a subject and verb
I took a walk
Though the action of the subject is absurd

Melting Dreams To Feed The Daytime

I’ll give everything passing thing I see,
A silly name that about you and me.
And even when I sleep at night,
I’ll have to hold my eyes to stop the light