January 9, 2013 § Leave a comment
I miss writing exercises. Here’s one where I take a phrase, convert a word into it’s homogr-whatever, and then riff off the meaning—-creating some poetry/stanza happenings.
I don’t have a resolution. Maybe some goals: travel, get sun into my skin permanently, be good to people, be fair and teach children, do good work. Same old shit? But one of my goals this year is to shed my “I.” Don’t get me wrong, speaking from the I is dope when you are drawing emotional comparisons and arguing a point to someone who has an interest in either you or the human condition as extended by you… but it’s a selfish coping mechanism I only want to use half the time. (Sentence editor help.) More history this year. More application of the present. Less reflection on flaws that are dead ends. More doing and less talking. I wish that my weeks upstate had provided me with some great clarity and guidance, but I was filled mostly with snow, then melting snow, and then the sound the cork floors make when pressure is applied to that one sticky spot. Also: 1. carpets make silence so much more stuffy 2. blue walls echo light. 3. Everything comes in threes. Just kidding about three.
HERE’S THE EXERCISE:
Getting out of the I.
Of the storm none here
clean forecast of warm days
blaze on through winter.
Scorch radiator, scorch shower.
Of the one in the palm
brown and dewey
surgeries over-coated and
blinks honeyed like a drizzled look.
Of the tiger. Ay, ay. He lolls
and lopes. Hind quarters an
un-chewed muscle meat. We’ve tamed
anything alive with a logo. Ay, the tiger.
Of the needle once a week
purple stem and subcutaneous
one squirt and your blood’s dirt
grow up strong, able to move.
Of the beholder, you’re a gem.
Rubies rubies is all it is. Cannibalistic
sometimes you look like a cartoon ham-hock
like the perfect cola. Like an attitude with altitude.
Of Horus. Aren’t we all unburied wealth?
Hands in clay pots and necks of gold
roaming around out of our tombs. “Take my
eye,” Horus offered.