A scream: or, a freeform poem

But I couldn’t just get it right.

The pauper laughed sometime in the cool blank dark.

There were some asunder timings couth in the mystic rains.

I left out. I left outside a long shattered door. The door frame wasn’t there—I already told you, there will be other people at the park and I can’t have it. I can’t do anything about what’s been going on with you. You know, I wanted to write you a long letter, but I couldn’t find my pen. There’s no one else here just now. Not even you. I got rid of you. I smoked you in the backyard and I forgot about you. And I’m not particularly sorry about that. There are so many others out in the blank white forgotten lands. I kept many of them near and dear without shaking any of their hands. You know how it goes. Capitalize this and underscore that. There weren’t any more police underneath your hat. Just dreams. I wanted to go out in the grimy street and teach people about love. I don’t have many ways left to go outside anymore. Just that front door. Just that swelling autumn thunder makeshift mystic entrapment of freedom door. I went out and let my blood run quick into the street which then became like a river. It was already a river because of the rain and so I went unnoticed. There are no police. There are no police there. There were no police. There’s not a single damn cop in the entire wasteland of my imagination. I can’t ever figure out where you put my favorite coat and so go on a debauch of misery, drinking nothing and letting all the suicides burn me to the floor. And beneath? Beneath there were no policemen either. Just someone who gave me a lantern like in some bygone bastard history story. Like some faked out juke joint miser. Like a nothing. There were a lot of nothings there. I dreamt I went on some private voyage to the moon. I actually dreamt it. No, wait, I’m coming, just let my heart bleed completely out and then yes yes I will yes I’ll go to the play with you tonight just let me get my coat. There were some desperate teenagers along a shore, fiddling with secretaries in the psych ward. Put on your best desperation and fling the feelings across the sea, and yet, the lantern went out and the door wasn’t really a door just fleeting tastes of what it was like to be alone in the presence of a lover and in fact, as a matter of fact, in due good course I know just where to put all those things you gave to me, all those books filled with lies. On the floor and beside the ashen lantern and I will come with but first I need to find my hat, I need to find my good best hat which I used and wore when I went to the blues show.