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Put Your Hand Here

28 Jan

Let me make sense for a moment.  Linear writing is what I like to call it…

Recently I’ve had two people say they don’t understand poetry.  For the most part though there isn’t anything to understand.  There isn’t anything to get any “ah ha” moment any epiphanies.   When it comes down to it it’s just words on paper.  Think of it like listening to classical music or jazz or something in a foreign language.  There emotion there’s a language.  But not necessarily something anyone’s suppose to get.  “A lot of people think poetry stopped” (Roger Reeves, The Whistler Lounge). Guess I must have stopped then.

Here’s a song I was trying to listen to and write this but I couldn’t do both…

I’ve noticed some grey hair recently.  10 years ago I was a freshman in college….fyi I just erased a lot of stuff.  Most of it was about someone I once knew.

I used to write the subject of my emails with whatever was the first thing I saw when I opened the “new message” button.  Some of them were…Nighttime Sleep Aid…Keys…Mozilla…1 New Message…Blank…Experience…

…Speaking of experience I heard a quote yesterday…”Experience is your worse teacher.  It gives you the test first and the lesson later.”

…Speaking of teacher that’s what I do for a job…or work…there is a difference between a job and work I hope you know.

Just like there’s a such thing as a career.  A good friend of mine said he’s been working in retail all his life and that’s all he knows. He’s 31.  And even though he has been doing it for 16 years.  That doesn’t mean that’s all he has too do.  There’s still time for a 30 year career.  Technically I’m on my second.

I used to go to raves 10 years ago.  It was fun…fyi

I’m still not using commas and I think I wanna share a poem (it should be single spaced but wordpress won’t let me)…fyi…I’ve gotten 5 rejections in the past 3 weeks.

If anyone knows tell me what this poem means because I honestly don’t have a clue.  Guess I should a mentioned that too.  How people told me they don’t understand poetry.  Well poets really don’t know what they’re writing about either sometimes.  I know I don’t.  “I don’t know what the fuck I’m writing about sometimes.  And I don’t wanna know.  It might affect the poem.”  (Roger Reeves, CPW)

Sugar for the Sky

There’s a red table

poets and red wine

red fingertips sucked

like Cheetos pointed

in the sun.  Jam me

farther.  Finish me

and don’t care.  I

don’t know what

your name means.

Black letters on white

pages.  I don’t read

because you put black

letters on white paper.

White stars on engulfing

black skies.  Grey moon.

Fist through my shoulder

through my shoulder through

my shoulder fist.  Pause.

Stop telling me what

I’m doing.  Finish me

and don’t care.  I

don’t know what

your name means.

Keep me the same.  I’m

always the same. I am

what you don’t want me

to be.  You don’t want me

to be.  Red.  On the table

I like Cheetos pointed

to the sun.  Leave ashes.

When I burn everything

I’ll leave ashes.  Like thrown

sugar into the sky.  Look

through sugar in the sky.

Muzzle for your mouth.  Sugar

for the sky muzzle in your mouth.

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2 Comments

Posted by on January 28, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

2 responses to “Put Your Hand Here

  1. Anonymous

    January 29, 2012 at 8:00 pm

    Your poem is fluent. Now I think I started liking poetry more since I know now that it doesn’t necessary have to give me a hard time figure them out. Just be part of a poem, that’s what you mean right?

     

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