randomness
chooses people
to win, to lose
and some
to simply not know
if they have won
or lost
and the most fortunate
among the random
the chosen
winners and losers
are gifted
by the chaos
with true indifference
I don’t enjoy
reading
the celebrated greats
of poetry
tho I am aware
that I’m expected to
genuflect
at their names’ mention
hold each as a bronzed deity
study dutifully
and swoon
at their clever inflections
scour their virulent verbosity
rustle through
the sharp-edge crumple
of their welded-metal waste bins
for lost meanings
for poetic wisdom
I could have written
‘howl’
in less than an hour
but wouldn’t have
bothered
tho I knew a man
once
who told me
quite casually
that he had
four testicles
two in each sac
so I wrote an epic poem
featuring four fist-fighting
protagonists
motley, unshaven rebels
husky heroes, suppressed
by an oppressive regime
stout revolutionaries
who then led the insurgence
fathering a free nation
but I still wasn’t certain
if he’d won
or if he’d lost
and then I finally realized
the epiphany arriving
as slowly as a Ginsberg poem
he was the most fortunate
sanberdooboy says
i enjoy the attitude presented in the poem and am also very jealous of “the sharp-edge crumple/of their welded-metal waste bins” because i wish i had written it.
Eric says
Thank you. I mentioned your blog to someone the other day. What you’re doing with the audio adds a new dimension. You’re right. Poetry is meant to be read aloud.