You Won’t Know A Good Poem Until It Leaves You

You get a poem in you sometimes and
it burns through the roof of your mouth all the
way down, down, down and
even past you,
into the earth below you
and it keeps going you don’t know where it stops
or if it does,
it’s like the acid from the mouth sucker
in the movie Alien.

It goes through the floors of
the ship and
it penetrates metal,
and it laughs at wire and copper,
and it mistake’s your heart for a fuck fest
and all your friends be damned and even your
best laid plans will get shoved to the
ground and kicked in the shins
just enough to keep them winded,

nothing more than a cosmetic knock or two,
but it’s the overall audacity of the thing,
to think itself worthy of messiah like status
in contrast to your body,
to your life’s work,
to your stink,
it looks to all and winks,
as if to say
“Fuck Ya’ll, ain’t shit without me anyway!!”

Before diving from sight,
as if to never come again,
each time,
as if to never come back.

It’s a bitch and you still love it.

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4 comments

  1. Your style gives me flashbacks to NYC cafes in the mid-90’s. I don’t know if they’re like that now, and poetry jams out here in the SF Bay Area tend to be a sad attempt at imitation. That’s all to say, you’re style is excellent, giving the feeling you’re in the same room speaking.

    1. Salutations and thank you !
      I have never had the pleasure of attending NY readings, I would love to see the NuYorican Poet Cafe some day. Huge Pinero fan.

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