i want wordsi want my words to hug every deadly curve of thoughti want words
i want the noise in my head to fill every small dark dirty place the cracks and the corners
i want to sing the praises of the dirt under my fingernails and paint any room
with words, candid and caustic
i want to give words to that nervous creature in my gut and have it spit acid in their eyes
but that i would become an insect a gnat, mute and grey stumbling blind along the arm that caresses another human back
another ignorancewhat remains of a memory of a memory? a crystallization of an actuality more actual than reality? more of a reality than the sharp corners and yellowed white brick walls where i first thumbed through pages of wordsworth and now i sit among his daffodils writing poems in my head about the overgrown children who clamber like so many ants trying to get lost in a nature they never belonged toanother ignorance
(i would watch the same ones stumble with flat american feet along roads they always felt entitled to)
what's another year in the
bleary eyed in brooklynbleary eyed in brooklyn standing with boots untied blisters burning wondering why you, of all people are up on that billboardbleary eyed in brooklyn
head over shoulder, grinning off to some place that most resolutely isn't here, right now where there are no colors just browns and greys
it isn't you, of course just a cartoon, a facsimile someone i can pretend is you- because i do wish you were here but you're not
you're in purples and greens you're in the words they say about you admitting shyly that they miss you you're bleary eyed, watch
and they always dowhat if it were true, what they say that we all had only one great work within us only one chance to make your mark (and those are the lucky ones) then what will you do when your magnum opus is finished the legend is secured and the critics have all weighed in their pens poised for the next big thing do you content yourself with the lecture circuit with commencement ceremonies with turning out the same variation over the next thirty years knowing that they'll buy it and they always do or do you become a fat, alcoholic embarrassment occasionally rearing yand they always do
the salted slug
--
That thou mayest be everything
seek to be nothing.
~St. John of the Cross
--
"Why don't I do something?" echoed the red-headed girl. "Here I am, skipping for all I'm worth, and then you tell me I'm not doing anything. Skip yourself and see how easy it is!" --Pippi in the South Seas
your poems make everything else seem meaningless and watered down.
i had no idea.
i love you GRRL.
i'll get on that gangrene necklace.
lovekelsey.
(sorry about the kerry comment. i am just not a political analyst kinda person. i would rather stay out of it.)
--
Secret Aladdin
Previous PageNext Page