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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=547174" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Blue Collar Schizophrenias</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">If I could live forever somehow <br>Rectified as a psalm, <br>It really wouldn’t matter that all my <br>Best friends are dogs, <br>And that my latest complexions scribble worry<br>On my belly, <br>The stillbirth of my isolated karmas, <br>And that my poetic images are really not<br>Much more than blue collar <br>Schizophrenias: <br>I love you, I love you-<br>Isn’t that what I was supposed to sing, <br>To pull up next to her and rev these engines, <br>To put my eyes on the cherry sport of her<br>Jogging legs: <br>Her name is Erin, and sometimes there are<br>Storm clouds in the afternoon, <br>Which wet the equine bodies between the trees, <br>And I should have my own house sometime<br>Soon after July 4th, <br>Where I will begin to daydream beneath the<br>Stain-glass alders of a new classroom; <br>And isn’t that absolutely strange: That I should<br>Be thirty-one and going back to school<br>For a Ph.D. in Saint Louis, Missouri; and how long<br>Should I make it before they call me out, <br>And smell the cheap liquors on my breath, <br>And find out that I can barely even spell, <br>That I might be the real reason for the holocaust; <br>But these lines aren’t nearly even publishable-<br>They are the sad infatuations I’ve carried on since<br>Junior high- They are cheap grape soda the fox<br>Drinks, plump bellied under the broken school bus-<br>They are her eyes carving caracoles<br>Like pulling tricks through the despotic cumulus <br>Over the thorny heads of the grinning reptiles: <br>This is my thing, my little sport of lines casting into<br>The freeway’s river: and her name is Erin, <br>And this is all about her, even as the traffic crowds<br>And better faces turn to meet hers: These lines<br>I remember, <br>And recite just as one of my ancestors getting off<br>The boat under the burning torch of<br>Lady Liberty in New York Harbor- Only but the<br>Freedom of alliterate; and yet I boastfully remember, <br>Riding a new bicycle through the distended ghettos <br>Of the reawakened suburbia, <br>My chief lines- Her name is Erin, <br>And I am cheaply drunk, but it is love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=547174" data-title="Blue Collar Schizophrenias de Bret R. Crabrooke" data-description="If I could live forever somehow 
Rectified as a psalm, 
It really wouldn’t matter that all my 
Best friends are dogs, 
And that my latest complexions scribble worry
On my belly, 
The stillbirth of my isolated karmas, 
And that my poetic images a..."></div>
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