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i am sorry for the animal in me. for letting it out, for not letting it out enough. for having a sharp tongue. for not using it when i should. for my teeth. i am sorry for not flossing enough, one of many broken promises. sometimes i have thrown away the forgotten left-over, container and all, now straining with gases and mold, when i should have rinsed and recycled. i am sorry about the rainforest, and forgetting the cloth bag on the way to market, and for drinking all those diet pepsis, and for not looking the crazy man in the eye that day outside rite-aid. i am sorry for looking others in the eye when i should have averted my gaze: eye-contact, my achilles' heel. i am sorry for all the rules i have broken, and i am sorry there are so many. i wasn't nice enough to my sisters, growing up. i am sorry for locking laura in the toybox, and i am sorry she still brings it up every few years. i apologize for my sins of omission, of commission, of permission, of persimmons. i am sorry we are all not better at forgetting.
another poet game, in which we translate from languages we don't know--
(the) art of distraction
given a slice of bread before the execution
the soldier responds
"ask the baker whether the
wheat scythe was sharp or neglected"
always there are questions
and comments
some distraction
cataloging moments
divided like solitary letters
so that now words lose all sense.
in this game, a known poem is presented for rewriting by erasing all but the first letter of each word. you then construct around that. this was from Larissa Szporluk, appearing in her collection Isolato--Malady of the Bird. the original poem is astounding-- look it up.
My Own Troubled Boyhood
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I incarnated here freely, though in keeping
God's threads tightly woven,
all the same bullshit had also evolved
in irritating similarity, and the question of love
dragged its tiresome head southward,
obliviously hurling the same numb heart,
only less artificially armored, not wanting to look
obvious even as it intruded, into this.
Another infant in holy freedom, i howled piteously,
dozens attending the thirsty cries released,
and feeling such bounteous true reassuring love,
another hungry fellow
was at first intent in earnest on learning,
purely altruistically, about Woman, God, intimacy in souls,
clutching these enveloping and fearsome dreams,
later thinking finally life obliged me,
catching on, alarmed, during succoring and suffering,
as Jesus had, ecstatic.
HUNGRY COMRADES WELCOME AND BE FED--
bring your dreams and visions, apologies and rants, words from your bones, words you picked up on the way. join a game/start a game. list your mottos, resolutions and regrets, your manifestos and fears. write a song, a limerick, a slogan, a sonnet. every piece of you is welcome here.
why we are here :
polka. escape.
cognition. disguise.
diatribes. truth.
limericks. lies.
recipe sonnets. channeled odes.
transfigured poets. less traveled roads.
bad country songs. erotic haiku.
stories in chorus. to find out about you.
we have found something out:
there are others out there
with strange eyes, inky fingers, velvet underwear.
we're the right brain revolutionary poet
brigade--
thanks for dropping in:
magic choice you have made.
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