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| nobody is really good at poetry.
its true! people get close,
sure,
in lines and snippets here and there a glimpse of
it and real poetry introduces itself
then nervously leaves and
us scratching our heads
like mad apes tricked into beauty;
having to wrap our minds around the expanse (like
how big is this everything you know its exactly like that
sometimes).
its hard to do, it really is. i am not so creative, maybe:
"i love you like a dinosaur?" no.
"i want to be with you when our winter years are slowly
ebbing into the spring of death?"
oh god,
thats morbid.
"i love you with each atom of my body?" too scientific.
"your love is like a '67 chardonnay?" too pretentious and plus
i cannot spell chardonnay which kinda ruins the whole effect.
a good verse is 50 years of love and you at
the anniversary party, surrounded by friends.
what i want from you is
exactly
like a good verse.
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| so,
love makes you do dumb things (we
all know this, and
all the time we fight it our hearts collapsing
with a soldier's exhaustion: pushing
forward pushing
on come hell come
high water
come again)
we do dumb things like
like write two poems about rainbows.
and then you delete them (of course) because
rainbows? no.
but the larger picture, you know,
the tight
knit
interweaving and juxtaposition of
of something surprisingly sublime something
eyecatching something
unorthodox and that
with the banality of the ever present glowing azure expanse of
nothing
bearing down on you every
damn day and
getting a little closer too and
closer and you begin to think
(in your car, on your commute,
the ipod off,
the rain drop veneering across your window pane)
about god and promises and
that forever thing and
maybe, you know?
maybe.
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| okay
i will let pour each tumultuous thought:
my cell phone said it was 15 minutes of only
your voice
and my day arrives transcendent and
i would, wandering and lost, fall
inside the great expanse of your eyes.
oh god i think i am
i am reexamining the previous this,
that
i guess, really
and its not the total i think
this present this (really this
) is.
there is no time to waste!
with you,
no time is wasted.
this love makes me,
a mole hill, feel
mountainous.
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| you are the sunlight that unfurls my petals,
the slow descending
rays tickling each hidden part and
prying
at what i'd like to think is like
the whole entire mystery of me
(or whatever that sounds self-absorbed).
but c'mon
i'm egalitarian.
everyone has a story, right?
even me.(and you make me
so badly
want to write your name on every page,
like let every line reverberate
with the magnificence of your
perfect
name and every chapter
a newer testament
)
where was i ohhhhh
you are the universe's overwhelming yes.
the cascading positive,
the brute force
le oui, el si, der ya.
the its okay
stretching out to infinity to
each meandering brilliant star
it's almost,
okay,
i'll just say it,
it's almost like the sea and outerspace don't mean
you know
loneliness or "man's whole unimportance in the
really big scheme of things"
anymore
but more like when you're standing there too
counting constellations on your tomboy fingernails
i say its more like
"why not?"
----------------------------
i love love poems, anymore. they're a lot harder to do but i think they're much much more worth it. besides, neruda wrote love poems. and he's a bad ass.
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| you reach that
point
you know when it happens.
when your eyes kind of stained glass over into
the world of hues so fiction you
you appreciate the everything of everything,
right?.
when your pulse kind of sl sl
sl
slows and then quickens like you're a gazelle fleeting over the waving auburn savannah as the sun sets
and your stomach does that thing that's almost
dropping
or flipping you know but
is not at the same time
at all.
when you think
okay ummm there goes the whole totality.
yanno?
goals and dreams and plans and hopes and
a part of you gets
tied down and killed
and the other part of you
soars.
you get there and the spanning crevasse the
still small moments (you know, c'mon,
the sunlight dancing over the perfect landscape of her skin,
her hair pressed against her forehead high
lighted in
moonlight or the shy glow of an alarm clock the
24/7 echo of her symphonic laugh as it
incomprehensibly bounces from brain cell to
brain cell)
you look into them through watery eyes and
your fool heart
collapses.
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I regret every moment I wanted to be on Def Poetry. Shit.
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