The Salt Flats
grooveamatic
Posts: 1,374
This one isn't set in stone. Any comments or suggestions are appreciated.
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The long wide white expanse,
The glowing blank field,
The loving wide glowing blank
Salt flats of the soul.
When I used to drink everyday
I got so lonely sometimes
I could hear
(and see!)
My heart beating,
Pumping gin & nicotine rapidly
To my confused organs;
I could get so drunk & lonely
And all I could ever think about
(and see when my stuttering eyes closed)
Were those girls who'd taken their clothes off
For me,
Who had whispered sweet things,
Blown kisses across parking lots.
Near the end of the drinking
I began to get hotel rooms
For myself
So I could drink with no one seeing me.
I'd throw my bag on the bed
Unwrap the complimentary plastic cup
Mix a drink
(three-fourths gin one-fourth Coke)
& drain it like a marathon runner
Drains water held out to him.
After the first drink
I was loose and steady
(and maybe grinning a little)
& I'd mix a second one,
Take it into the shower with me.
I never used soap or shampoo
But just sat there
With hot hot water dancing on me
Thinking and drinking in the dark.
For an hour or more I usually sat there.
Out of the shower
(the room now entirely humid everywhere,
the mirrors fogged, the sheets damp,
even the television needed wiping off)
I’d position myself at the round oak table
With the TV on
& old newspapers or magazines
Spread everywhere,
The gin bottle & 2 liter of soda
By my socked feet.
It didn’t take much for the loneliness
To happen;
Two drinks? Three?
Soon the naked whispering women filled the room
(muttering about how great I was,
what a shame life was).
I rarely cried. I just tried not to think.
Sometimes they’d taunt me.
Sometimes they drank with me.
Sometimes we’d argue,
I’d call them whores and harlots
And apologize & apologize.
Usually they fucked me.
Once they were there,
They didn’t leave
(until sunrise).
After some weeks
(a month, maybe more?
I’ll never know)
Of performing this ritual
The newspapers, the magazines,
The pre-emptive shower were no longer enough
To hold off that miserable loneliness:
It began as I walked through the door.
Desperate, I tremblingly paged through
The Gideon’s Bible
(there was nothing there for me.
It never left the bedside table).
And then I found the phone book.
I suppose I knew what I was looking for
Because I turned right to it.
Escorts, right there in the open
For anybody to find.
I was amazed!
Women would actually come to my room
(and do whatever I asked).
The idea was a wonderment.
The first time I called
I requested an Asian woman
(I’d never so much as held hands
with a girl who wasn’t as white as
freshly painted parking lot spaces);
Immediately after hanging up
I knew I wouldn’t sleep with her.
She got to my room an hour later.
She wasn’t Asian
(she was whiter than me)
And she wasn’t very pretty.
But she wasn’t ugly.
She smiled at me as though she were a whore.
I knew she was a whore.
I told her I was a writer
(for a reputable magazine, no less)
Doing a story on the lives of
Young girls working for dreary escort services.
I just wanted to talk, I told her,
And she’d be paid for her time.
I mixed her a drink,
Which she gladly took.
She told me all about herself,
But I don’t remember any of it now.
I just remember staring at her
(taking fake notes)
And smiling as she became more enchanting
With each drink I took,
Each word out of her mouth.
After an hour she said it was time to go.
I gave her the money I owed her.
As she was gathering her things I managed to say
How much more would it be
For a quick handjob?
That’s not what you want,
She said. She shut the door behind her.
I just sat there, mixing another drink.
I remember it was snowing outside
And the roads were icy.
Letterman was on TV.
Here be the salt flats of the soul;
The long wide white expanse,
The glowing blank field,
The loving wide glowing blank
Salt flats of the soul.
wow...thanks ETE. I'll print it out w/o the first stanza and see how it reads....that may be a good idea. glad you liked it!
And I won't make the same mistakes
(Because I know)
Because I know how much time that wastes
(And function)
Function is the key
And I won't make the same mistakes
(Because I know)
Because I know how much time that wastes
(And function)
Function is the key
The Salt Flats
When I used to drink everyday
I got so lonely sometimes
I could hear
(and see!)
My heart beating,
Pumping gin & nicotine rapidly
To my confused organs;
I could get so drunk & lonely
And all I could ever think about
(and see when my stuttering eyes closed)
Were those girls who'd taken their clothes off
For me,
Who had whispered sweet things,
Blown kisses across parking lots.
Near the end of the drinking
I began to get hotel rooms
For myself
So I could drink with no one seeing me.
I'd throw my bag on the bed
Unwrap the complimentary plastic cup
Mix a drink
(three-fourths gin one-fourth Coke)
& drain it like a marathon runner
Drains water held out to him.
After the first drink
I was loose and steady
(and maybe grinning a little)
& I'd mix a second one,
Take it into the shower with me.
I never used soap or shampoo
But just sat there
With hot hot water dancing on me
Thinking and drinking in the dark.
For an hour or more I usually sat there.
Out of the shower
(the room now entirely humid everywhere,
the mirrors fogged, the sheets damp,
even the television needed wiping off)
I’d position myself at the round oak table
With the TV on
& old newspapers or magazines
Spread everywhere,
The gin bottle & 2 liter of soda
By my socked feet.
It didn’t take much for the loneliness
To happen;
Two drinks? Three?
Soon the naked whispering women filled the room
(muttering about how great I was,
what a shame life was).
I rarely cried. I just tried not to think.
Sometimes they’d taunt me.
Sometimes they drank with me.
Sometimes we’d argue,
I’d call them whores and harlots
And apologize & apologize.
Usually they fucked me.
Once they were there,
They didn’t leave
(until sunrise).
After some weeks
(a month, maybe more?
I’ll never know)
Of performing this ritual
The newspapers, the magazines,
The pre-emptive shower were no longer enough
To hold off that miserable loneliness:
It began as I walked through the door.
Desperate, I tremblingly paged through
The Gideon’s Bible
(there was nothing there for me.
It never left the bedside table).
And then I found the phone book.
I suppose I knew what I was looking for
Because I turned right to it.
Escorts, right there in the open
For anybody to find.
I was amazed!
Women would actually come to my room
(and do whatever I asked).
The idea was a wonderment.
The first time I called
I requested an Asian woman
(I’d never so much as held hands
with a girl who wasn’t as white as
freshly painted parking lot spaces);
Immediately after hanging up
I knew I wouldn’t sleep with her.
She got to my room an hour later.
She wasn’t Asian
(she was whiter than me)
And she wasn’t very pretty.
But she wasn’t ugly.
She smiled at me as though she were a whore.
I knew she was a whore.
I told her I was a writer
(for a reputable magazine, no less)
Doing a story on the lives of
Young girls working for dreary escort services.
I just wanted to talk, I told her,
And she’d be paid for her time.
I mixed her a drink,
Which she gladly took.
She told me all about herself,
But I don’t remember any of it now.
I just remember staring at her
(taking fake notes)
And smiling as she became more enchanting
With each drink I took,
Each word out of her mouth.
After an hour she said it was time to go.
I gave her the money I owed her.
As she was gathering her things I managed to say
How much more would it be
For a quick handjob?
That’s not what you want,
She said. She shut the door behind her.
I just sat there, mixing another drink.
I remember it was snowing outside
And the roads were icy.
Letterman was on TV.
Here be the salt flats of the soul;
The long wide white expanse,
The glowing blank field,
The loving wide glowing blank
Salt flats of the soul.
okay, I have a bit more to say......
it's the first verse which got me engaged with the poem......and the second and all the others just got better......and I was so startled by the whole thing, that it gave me a kind of quiet happiness.....although I'm sure it shouldn't have......etc etc (I'm just going to read the latest version, and then I'll tell you what I think probably)
thanks depop....glad you can feel the emotion.
so you think the first verse should stay?
I agree .
And I won't make the same mistakes
(Because I know)
Because I know how much time that wastes
(And function)
Function is the key
Well here's the official connundrum. Seriously though, for yourself, the best way to edit your own stuff. Read it out loud.
Another smidgeon, Hemmingway was famous for saying "Never be afraid to murder your darlings." I can't tell you how many times I've built a poem around a single image or metaphor only to find out I had to cut it because it didn't belong in the poem anymore.
I admit I am torn. Aloud I truly like the first and last stanzas. But I also see your point. They may be unnecessay, forced.
I began the poem a week ago and finished it five minutes ago. I probably need to wait a few days and come back to it with fresh ears.
I'm hoping to publish a manuscript one of these days just so I don't have to worry about changing all my poems from year to year.
I know how you feel...unfortunatley, poets still change their poems after publication all the time. We can't get away from it.
I wanted to mention Cath that I think it's perfect that it gave you a quiet happiness...I can't quite explain it but that's what I wanted it to do. The story itself is terribly depressing but for me the bookending stanzas lift it up, if not to happiness then at least to neutrality. And besides, the narrator basically tells you that he got out of that lifestyle, so you know there's a happy ending somewhere....
acting is 100% sex?
Somehow...as an actress I can relate to this poem by just saying,
"Fake an orgasm".
What ever that means.
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?