Monday, August 8, 2016

Aside To My Audience

I'm going to manipulate you....
the only way you can avoid  it
is to stop reading.

Still there?  OK.

You like word play, twisting images
into new thought balloon animals. 

You don't want my opinions piercing
the balloons I think you're thinking.

"Write about birdies, don't pollute us
with polemic, we have enough already!"

So, yes,  birdies fly in the face of our
perceptions, nest in the trees of delight.
It's good to write about things you notice
once in a while....(oops! almost slipped 
up there into diatribe...but I can balance
on the airship of my lofty devices. If I fall,
"kersplat!" perhaps it's welcome.)

"So, words," as Quasimodo continued his
splendid word feast. Words, music, even
white noise is a useful slip slide around that
which will remain nameless for the duration 
of this poem.

The words I'm using are meant to entertain,
not serious enough for the unexpected post
card that reads: "I'm dying!!" leaving no 
return address.

I think it's safe to say life is a balancing act,
lean too much one side or the other and eat

I loved words my whole life, even as a grade-
schoolist since my first story: "Colonel Pop-nut
and the Scrummies", long lost, thrown out with
all the photos of my family by that bitch my
father called his second wife.

Weren't expecting that, were you?

So, yes, I'm having fun, steady stream from the 
invisible well, no axe to grind, pechuga de pollo
alambre a substantive feast, yada yada yada,
and then we'll have world peace?

I gave the world a piece of my mind, lost in the
jabbering multitudes of social media clowns
of (h)unt and pecker, finding meaning in their
own dirt.

I watched a good, bloody Tarantino last night,
"Hateful Eight"...he doesn't leave many standing
at the ends of his movies...bad childhood? 
Wishful thinking? Just good cinema? Same reason
we jump out of airplanes, run with the bulls, take
drugs, masturbate....

Did that come as a surprise?

Got to cut this off now, enough part of the one poem
all poets write...only one. If you can dig one poem,
you can dig them all...(just to leave this poem, nice
and tidy.)


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