Poem of the Day Plucked out like an Eyebrow Hair
Posted: August 18th, 2015, 9:33 am
Waited too long to write
Clouds have come in
The sparkle electric, not natural
The meter free
Doesn’t cost enough
For those who like sweat
The images are hand puppets
Suggesting fingers, thumbs etc.
Nothing exotic or Asian or metaphoric
The sound drones, boards snoring
Plain-sawn
The meaning eccentric ego centricity
A poem with a six-color tattoo
A red bandana of complaint
A bald head empty of thought
Just a poem to file away
Like you would a fingernail
Revise, contort the thing
So its confessing pain sings
Maybe like a twang of a vibrating saw
And look at all those possessive prepositions
An army of “of”
Pulling captured nouns
Dotting the page with,
If you think about it,
Non sequiturs,
Just genitives
Obscene genitives
The pros find them lazy writing
And this poem
Has an amateur’s kick
A moonshine poem
A joint rolled from home-grown weed
A bastardization surely
Of inspiration
Or is it suspiration
Goofiness taking over its face
Like 5 o’clock shadow and the self-awareness is stubble
But the poem is not allowed
To spend the night in critical jail
It must sleep on the streets of Amsterdam
Luggage in hand
Train ticket waiting for tomorrow
In the shadows thieves
Who will steal a line
Who will blur that line
And the vagrant poem then will be sued
Or tossed in an empty coal car
Rattling to Toledo
Clouds have come in
The sparkle electric, not natural
The meter free
Doesn’t cost enough
For those who like sweat
The images are hand puppets
Suggesting fingers, thumbs etc.
Nothing exotic or Asian or metaphoric
The sound drones, boards snoring
Plain-sawn
The meaning eccentric ego centricity
A poem with a six-color tattoo
A red bandana of complaint
A bald head empty of thought
Just a poem to file away
Like you would a fingernail
Revise, contort the thing
So its confessing pain sings
Maybe like a twang of a vibrating saw
And look at all those possessive prepositions
An army of “of”
Pulling captured nouns
Dotting the page with,
If you think about it,
Non sequiturs,
Just genitives
Obscene genitives
The pros find them lazy writing
And this poem
Has an amateur’s kick
A moonshine poem
A joint rolled from home-grown weed
A bastardization surely
Of inspiration
Or is it suspiration
Goofiness taking over its face
Like 5 o’clock shadow and the self-awareness is stubble
But the poem is not allowed
To spend the night in critical jail
It must sleep on the streets of Amsterdam
Luggage in hand
Train ticket waiting for tomorrow
In the shadows thieves
Who will steal a line
Who will blur that line
And the vagrant poem then will be sued
Or tossed in an empty coal car
Rattling to Toledo