Thirty-Third Entry

I'm trying to update as often as I can, because I realize people actually read this blog and demand constant information. Such is the plight of the internet user. I'll try my best to keep you happy. Hope you like obtuse momma's boy poetry though.

Here's my poem:

JIGSAW AS METAPHOR

I am not at peace with the puzzle.
I walk a deep circle into the floor
pacing the coffee table, and the game
seems to have won again. I pick up
the box of loose pieces cut into
eccentric pattern shapes, shaking
in the box like a wet maraca.

Casually, I throw the box
into the room of puzzles
I never completed , over 2078
pieces are piled in poker chip
precision, by my roommate,
who counted them as well.

While I switch on the radio
and listen to DJs bicker
with circular logic, my roommate
assembles a pile of pieces,
rubbing his chubby reddish chin.

His walls have been obscured
with splatters, randomly assembled
puzzles, puppy eyes mixed in
with dutch houses and cartoon
light-sabers, little patches
of a manic cobblestone collage,
and in the other room I’m sitting
in my brown chair and smoking
a jittery cigarette.

These are not metaphors.
Yet still I’m happy I live where I live;
my roommate’s an artist, he spends
and spends and shows his clean fat face
to an office break room 1/3rd of every day.
I’ve never finished a puzzle, ever, even
when my parents were here to help me
but they did give me this chair,
and my roommate stacking jigsaw
in his room allows me to write
stuff like this.