Archive for the ‘Years’ Category

1977-06-15

Wednesday, June 15th, 1977

            End the crazy years and come down my friend
            you've turned from the task into fortune and flesh.
            There's no money or smiles can ease your turning.
            Find where the wind blows the hardest and go,
            seek the source of all your losing.

                                       gallagher
                                       15 Jun 77

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

1977-07-03

Sunday, July 3rd, 1977

         How hideously quiet, the house waits.
         Our lives, here, churning beneath the empty moments....

           It gapes at the sound of our breathing
           and the incandescent lamps bring our still photos to life
         Again, our love is bending to form.

         She calls 'derelict' at me
         for the acid I take and I resent her pushing at my fun.

           She points at me as the deviant drug doer
           on my way to the imminent fall.

         And I feel like a confused young professional
         in need of a little direction.

           I'm sound...I just don't care much.
           There's too many deep currents
         running in me at cross purposes.
         Too many dreams and realities.

         Too many blessings and blemishes.
           I'm a bigger baby than ever at thirty
           about to fall out of the crib again.

                                 gallagher
                                 3 July 1977 - lsd

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

1977-07-09

Saturday, July 9th, 1977

         What's the cause, that I should think of leaving her?
           My eyes and heart, daily, pressing her and Danny away...
         Its here in my dreams that I've held all these years
           dreams held against all the waiting and poverty of school.
         I've been naive thinking that an education
           could separate me from our carnivorous reality.
         Its fighting at all levels in the under thickets of success
           and the dreamers and the weak are the fodder here.
         Its no wonder, then, that I look askance at my love;
           its easier, at thirty,
           than seeing myself as a dreaming fool.
         I don't love how much less I am than the dreams I held
           but I can't press her away because she does.

                                          gallagher
                                          9 July 1977

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —