Hey, am I just mesmerized by the lights of oncoming traffic, or is that you on the corner of 8th and 2nd, waiting for the bus outside that overpriced Japanese-tea joint, reading Pere Goriot in the original French?!

30 Sep

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Hey, am I just mesmerized by the lights of oncoming traffic, or is that you on the corner of 8th and 2nd, waiting for the bus outside that overpriced Japanese-tea joint, reading Pere Goriot in the original French?!

 

…and it becomes a mixture

of sweat and cocktails and a sparrow’s dream

on short feet

so you have to quit for a bit

you say – “for the writing like Faulkner”

even though you were as bored as teeth

with both the sound and the fury  

but the lie is really to stop the constant shaking hand,

at least for the time it takes to hold a pen

until something gets accomplished

and soon all the canons and the balladeers

will all hush

as though a bill was brought

soon the last overpaid athlete

will pop a fly ball out to right field

where it will be caught

by a self-conscious black hole

with the power of the purse

with testicles deflated and pulsing from charming, chemical accessorizing  

to fulfill a-myth-to-better on a slobbering television

like Richard Hell reading poetry at MoMa

like a cranked up rooster

that wakes the seagull

(who stayed up late listening to Amnesiac

and looking lethargically at passing fish)

who then flies across the burning coast

as sweet as sand mixed with glimmering argon

(the glow of lilac in the night)

just to shit rudely on my window

and wake me up unrested

from a nostalgia resembling a harrowed hangover –

a misted remembrance of delight

likely not had, hazy in revision

a delirium of savage chicanery

she was an intimate machine with celadon eyes

that sought to prove time eternal

and pleasantly dead

like a voided check

like using “orgastic” just for Fitz

when you’re writing about a moribund summer

making sure to refrain from exclamation points

since we never want to laugh at our own jokes

that’s what we pay you people for…

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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