Thursday, February 26, 2009

HEY ITS A POEM

I. Dear Tuesday Morning,
You sent me in a spiral and I couldn’t tell if it were up or down or Sideways or it could have even been backwards because I started to feel more energetic and imaginative like when I was younger I felt freer like I do on a Saturday which I knew it wasn’t for you are a Tuesday not yet at that whale hump of the week Wednesday which is like the diplomat between two warring states Monday and Tuesday take angry tired steps to get through and then Thursday and Friday you can slide through on your rear and the slides been polished so you don’t even have to worry about catching your jeans on some ragged or sharp metallic hiccup even though that metallic surface is inviting the way it glints like I wish the eye of the girl I look at from across my shoulder every other morning during class would glint and wink like a metallic surface greeting young fingered stretching sunlight

Sunshine Sunshine
Drink Wine
Feel Fine

II.
With jug in hand dance a tired merengue that wanders like pipe smoke of tobacco or maybe a pipe of weed why is it that they always say well he’s someone I’d like to have a beer with when if I could smoke a joint with him maybe I would feel better about the way he ran our country into the muck good luck make my day punk you silly quotable bastard I’m scarred from the lashings of your sharp tongue and they try to hide the red of blood and warning between the black and white grains of film stock I love the way Godard makes me feel like someone’s pulled the rug out from under my feet

Fall Fall
Fast Asleep
At Last

III.
I dream because dreams are the glue that holds my entire existence together without them I’d put my head to curb and smash my skull until my physical head fell apart but I would dare only to do this on a rainy day so the cascade of drops could wash my blood down the sewage drain and when little Susie got off the school bus after grammar school she wouldn’t have to see the blood and it’s a good point you make but what of the fragments of your physical skull and I reply have you heard of a little girl squeamish at the site of bone why no Watson its elementary fear of blood not skull fragments who’s ever heard of a girl scream and faint at the site of a bone Not I Not U Not A Not E Not O and you may say sometimes Y but I only trust consistency because its constant and fact is constant and fact is what a science is and science will save our souls said the lord and my art can only help heal and that image of my skull smashed and the little girl laughing saying Icabod Crane Icabod Crane was a sorry image and I’m sorry for that its just I would like my poems to make you squirm and shift in your seat so the movement of your body would let me know my art isn’t rigid I ask you to put a box around my poems only so the pages will force the box out until it splinters and you see all the little points of what I’d like to do.

3 comments:

sootheseyer said...

this is DOPE who wrote this?

Art Official Prophets said...

ya boy KT, forgot to throw the initials up. thank you.

pmed87 said...

lol i know why i passed this up now because when i read it the first time i read it without stopping because there are no punctuations so i got tripped up and so i skipped the first part and read the second part and the same thing happened so i moved on to the third part and read "physical head" and at the time i did not like the way that sounded but haha now its sounds great on so many levels i do not usually like things without punctuation as you can tell from my other posts i write with fucking commas and periods everywhere to break up the sentences so it sounds like im talking but ironically that is a problem for me when i write papers and so i am trying to write this comment with no punctuations it is rather fun actually anyway i do like this poem and not just because i told you i hated it to your face without knowing it was yours because you didnt put your usual KT signature for all of you who didnt know that is why this post is so long and it keeps going because i should be finishing a paper but procrastination raises his ugly head yet again this poem reminds me of lewis carrol mixed with a kindergartner reading to the class what he did the day before because of how it runs on and i dig the quotable bastard and the goddard reference because he definitely makes one feel as if a rug is pulled out from under ones feet and i dig how it is broken up into morning afternoon/evening and night
sweet poem

and after previewing this it might sound like i am mocking this style but i am not i just wanted to see how long i could rant with out stopping and adding punctuations it was rather fun