Spare Change News poetry editor Marc D. Goldfinger sent me this poem for the LYRICAL.

The Outs

By Marc D. Goldfinger

I have always been infected,  I confess

my heart is with the outs.  The left-outs,

the cast-outs, the out of its, out of their

minds, possessed by that which has

them talk to Gods or Demons.

Our spiritual heads rotate on our necks,

look into our eyes if you can, see

outside society, outside civilization,

the jungle roars from our outside eyes.

I confess.  I am one of them, yet

even outside them too.  The ride-outs,

the white-outs, the black-outs.  I have

been told, by one authority

or another that I will always

be an outsider, an outrider,

an outlaw, I dance on

the webbing of civilization.

I confess.  I love the dope-fiends,

the tramps, the petty thieves,

the panhandlers, the whores,

the poets from the fringe, the hustlers,

the winos in the alley draining the spider

from a bottle of Maddog 20-20, the dark

bars and coffee houses where the smoke hangs

heavy, where junkies draw up

water from the drain of a dirty

sink to quiet the voices,

where the spirits mutter

divine phrases to themselves.  Everyone

understands, no one is talking.

I confess.  I love the flame-outs,

the burn-outs, the shut-outs, the put-outs.

The forced-outs, the unclaimed.  We know

each other, give one

another the nod as we go

about our business collecting

the hebephrenic voices of the Gods.

Okay, I confess.  I am haunted by the ghosts

of the past, the specter of the future,

by women who look at their husbands

with fear in their eyes, by men who walk

docile behind angry wives,

by the counter-worker who cowers

when the manager walks

by, by police who swagger, by guns

in human hands.

I confess.  I am haunted by people

who think it is okay to develop

diseases to be used as weapons of war,

by people who spend millions of dollars

of taxpayer money to find out what

a president has done with his penis,

by non-smokers who think auto-exhaust

is okay, by companies who drill oil

wells deep in the ocean and lack

the technology to stop a well

that blows one mile under

the water, then banter while

ecosystems die, by talk shows

that promote mob mentality,

by children who kill each other.

I confess, I have always been

infected, I am only haunted

by what is real.

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