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Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Killing off incidentals

Killing off incidentals


Writing magnetic poetry
On a child’s blackboard
That I found in a dumpster.

 And then sometimes I get really high
 and Light a long filtered smoke, Thompson style.
And I exhale so hard until I am practically breathless,
In hopes that God himself will procure cancer
And beg for our help…

Not to see who does and does not run to his side
But to see him fall

‘Cause if he falls, it proves he is only human after all
But if we see no crash, no landing
Perhaps it means we ourselves are not human at all
But only animals chasing our tails…

A sinful whisper traveling the land from ear to ear
Like an underground telephone game.


 I get back into the poetry
Struggling to make things fit in my head.

Using someone’s chosen cookie cutter words
To create what I have been screaming
For years.
Could drive a nice girl like me insane,
Mad even.

And there are never enough words
And there are always too many words
No validation, just a mindfuck
And finding yourself into another pissing contest with yourself .

I peek out the window now and then
In search of a miracle crash
But it is disturbingly quiet.

Then I light another smoke,
And blow smoke rings off into the sky
Like carrier pigeons sent to scream sickness and chaos,
and disturb that unsettling  silence.

And I think I am doing this all
In hopes of creating
My very own miracle

But no crash landing has happened

Suddenly, Optimism crawls up on me
Like an unwanted child
.
As I think of the results
On the pool on god’s fall,
He’s dropping back in the race
No gloves up at all in sight
I’ve got the upper hand,
The angle

And now the words on the chalkboard flow
Like William Taylor Jr’s sweet never-ending glass of wine.

The silence is gone,
Replaced with screeches, natural disasters, and bells from those carrier pigeons
Letting me know their task is done.

And somehow, now everything makes sense.

Time to get high again,
And search for a vowel on the chalkboard.
My black smoke rings
Dance around in the sky
like a good old fashioned
SOS.

Please be on the lookout for my forthcoming book from Interior Noise Press. No date set, because apparently I have become a lazy asshole. Shocker.




                                          


comments and hate messages always welcome.





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