Being with Nothing

being with nothing, steven humphreys, poetry, prose, poem

It’s only words

until you try

being with nothing

it wasn’t as bad reading

something back then

in the sixties

because no one took offense

to almost anything said

when they read it

cloaked in poetry

my sweet words

makes it alright

unobtrusive and diabolical

cracks the doors

phantom movement

creeping low


it walks under your feet

 disassociating your psyche

no clubs

no memberships

no political party

except, for the god you hoped for

but, never found

never connecting to him

because the only way he shows himself

is behind what you see

and you are not allowed

to see what’s behind all


when you stopped thinking a certain way

and, unleashed your mind

it got trapped in a frame

dressed like the others

forming thoughts like all the others

then, you began living like them

with an empty pack of cigarettes

that you wished you had

a front pocket for

but, they don’t make shirts with pockets anymore

you craved that drink you knew was waiting for you

in that fridge of yours

when you got home

that makes all those weird sounds

at 3AM

sounding like it has a mind of its own

most of all

I am tired of acting like ME

but a good makeover

is nowhere near good enough

yet, on the other hand

it could be

I need some


like Marilyn Manson wears

so nobody knows

where I am coming from

when I smile at them

and sneer at them

so, I’m goanna start

being with nothing

have you ever wondered why it was

when you aren’t paying attention

lost in your own thoughts

there’s goanna be someone standing right behind you

when you least expect it

it’s the mistake you make

when you aren’t aware of your surroundings

and you find out later

the universe commands you to

look straight at that goofy stranger

who has his arms folded

twiddling his thumbs

and tapping his foot

and say to him

“Oh, hello Morty Finkelstein, I didn’t know you were standing there! How’s your wife Pam holding out lately?”

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