Show your way to me
And I’ll squeeze you
To be free
You’ll be confined to the infinite wonder we share
Bound by the limits of our biological needs
Ensnaring our aging skins in wonder of What is right? What do I need, really?
Screech your screed
You woo-woo girl
Screech your screed
Spit your poetry
Spit it babe
You’re a babe
A ripe fruit barely there but by a thread
So insidious to all my prayers
My value statements composed in the analyst’s chair
Under the consultant’s glare
Anyone’s guess, my guest
My quest to remove you from the crest of this earth and float you to the infinite
Subsume with you
In this lonely, oily room
Too soon for the truth of what this late night decision may mean
Your poetry is quite pedestrian
Like that old lady I saw walking her dog
Along the sidewalk
My poetry isn’t good either
But that’s not the point
Now is it?
All I’m saying is go back to poem school.
You need it.
Is so cliched
It makes me question
don’t get lost along the way
or make us ask if you’re ok
do nothing that will disturb
and never leave the curb
please walk with feet of clay
But don’t be suck-cessful
Do you know the difference?
You were forced to graze in your mother’s pantry and forced to gaze upon your father’s scowl
And all along all you could think was:
“How did my consciousness end up here, in these cells, with these donors of DNA?
Why not marvelous Marci’s blood or lucky Lucy’s skin?
Neither complain about their genes, though they do complain about their jeans.
Why did my soul have to spark to life in this sad sack of bones, hefty from the feedings, cowering from the snarls, bad at jokes?”
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen
Yet you hold yourself in the mire
And nightly weep your way to bed
I’m thinking this may not work out
I really can’t be dragged down again for I’ve been dragged down before and I did not enjoy it nor did I grow from it nor did it teach me a damn thing. It was an entirely useless and cruel exercise.