Friday, March 21, 2008


My head hurts.
The fog refuses to move and my head hurts.
I took sixteen Tylenol and my head hurts.
Towers topple and
priggish politicians point at everyone but themselves and my head hurts.

I have a trillion things to say and a
gazillion ways to say them ... And nothing
comes out and my head hurts.

I see poetry.
I see twenty-twenty
for at least one hundred and sixty degrees
from my viewpoint at five feet, eleven inches
I see poetry
from wake to sleep from the
spider wrapping the mayfly
for a midnight snack
to the prostitute at the corner
I see poetry -

and I have no poems

And my head hurts.

I smoke a fag
watch the trails seek the only
clean part of the room and my head hurts.
I forgot how to drink because I wanted
to forget how to vomit and my head hurts.

I want it to stop.
My head hurts and
I just want to go home and smell my
girlfriend's pillow and fall asleep
with my cock in my hand because my head hurts.

I see poetry.

I smash the butt in the burnt plastic tray.
And my head hurts.
Creative Commons License
Migraine by Michael W. Hyde is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

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