GSM

i like it; let's make this a poetry thread.

I wrote both of these for an advanced poetry classes a couple years back:


What Did I Kill Back There?

Who says a mind is different
Than it’s been or ever cared to be
When it’s high
Contorted like a paper clip
Bending oddities serving the utmost purpose
But it’s far from any familiar pain of order
Like a fractured rubber bone
It’s only angst is in the let(come)down
Normalcy has long since
Whipped back to suffering
Please hold onto this amazement
Rubber stamp the ticket again
For the return trip

A mother waves
Goodbye to a bus
And a child inside
Snickers and chides at what
Mother doesn’t know
As she goes home and irons uniforms
Little Timmy’s recesses speak of
Being drug enhanced and pompous
But the second pot of coffee is gone
Back at home and the pile
Is starched and folded
With arresting speedy prowess

Who the fuck can say they’re alive
When they’re so low
Thoughts hackneyed and commonplace
‘Alive’! and ‘bright’!
As a possum scurrying about a gravel road
Right in the path of a truck
Full of stale and humdrum effects
That’s being driven by a father
Who knows his son
Can defy the peer pressure
I know I did, after all
He thinks as he extinguishes
Another cigarette and wonders fleetingly
What did I kill back there?


Goodbye to My Head

My few current thoughts rattle
Around my empty belfry
Like the first coins
In a new glass pig
I’m sick of this
And I'm sure it’s rather bored of me
I’ve spent all day stumbling
Over such flat ground
And I’ve finally found a hole
Along this desultory milieu
It’s only footsteps away

Perched at the edge of a canyon
With no devices holding on
Ready to vault, bound, leap
From the head of the giraffe
To the home of the ants
Which I’ll quickly pass
Because I’m going further
Beyond the thickening soil and clay
And the earth worms
There is nothing quite so living
In the last destination
Imprinted on the passport of my cerebrum

Drips willingly plunge into a rainbow vat
Of boiling phantasmic broth
Like the first tears of a faucet
Yanked to the ‘on’ position
Hastily, but by my own accord
This ‘liquid’ envelops what I am to me
And I’m scrawling the daunting set list
For this once-off concert
As      I      go
Farewell to 1-2-3
Farewell to ROY-G-BIV
Nothing is at it was back there
Where I stood at soldier’s attention
The spaces beside me unvarying
Like those between the teeth of a comb