So what if I need to read something new
every twenty-four seconds? That means
by the time I die (kerplunk!)
I'll have read an unacceptable number
of books, incompletely. One thousand.
One thousand books. In my dead brain
one thousand books will strike their matches
all at the same time.
WOW!
Why am I so short? Gee, I don't know
It had everything to do with my face, I think,
but I can't answer.
Yes, here I am, under a lamp,
boiling my notebooks, waiting for someone to come and
photograph me.
And here comes my adolescence
in a huge steaming tureen,
a hairy shocking palm!
He pulls it back just in time.
Dreams bristling with ornaments, they splash
on my morning's doormat. "Sorry," they say,
"mandatory."
I'm stretching out all my parentheses.
They go to church unmussed and come
back with fogged glasses.
If it's true that my eyes
have a history, it's somewhere else,
staring out the window, or maybe
lying to the principal, wringing the red
from a Fruit Roll-Up.
Every day, no matter where I am, I go
back to his yard, the trading post we made there,
when I hit him accidentally with
my green plastic sword.
One reason I creep is because
people tell me not to.
And the reason I am not a reptile
is that my scales are too small.
3 comments:
This poem, or whatever this is, is like some kind of chocolate dipped gummy bear, in that auda=gummy bear, and I can see the auda gumminess in here, but its dipped in something new..maybe new auda or maybe this is old auda or maybe its not auda maybe its sell-out native american or guy who says sad things in inappropriately happy tone..whatever it is or whoever it is is newish and a new voice thab I'm used to...more to come..I'm bussing
Also, I've decided that from now on, when I enter a room I'm gonna say " heeeyy fitz is in da house!" And do the raise the roof gesture. That is all.
Fitz is bugging out!
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