Monday, September 21, 2009

always the followers
soil the essence
in following
sometimes i listen to kabir
and i wonder what the hell
i'm trying to say in my own words

Friday, September 11, 2009

fuck off if you think i need to legitimize this

i am compost. so there.
make what you want to make out of that.
equilibrium is a dream
repeatedly dies in wakefulness (is this that example of when i try hard to create impact, and my words suffocate in an overdose of intended poeticism? i did add the wakefulness upon revision. thought it contrasted well with the dream. that's what they teach in schools, after all.)

i came.
did you see me?
did you look away?
brr. brr.

repeat repeat
repeat drabness

there are no words today
that are round
no words to create juice
even to create predictable sounds
feels like yet another mode of deception

if anything
i feign a poem
in this
there is no poem

today thoughts are weary
the jackal hunts the vaccuum
and square is the shape that always confines me

a good poem is a bad dream
a bad poem is just awkward

it's awkward
this is awkard
this is so awkward

garbage in garbage out equilibrium
but even that. who am i kidding.
i can't even get away with a make-what-you-want-to-make-out-of-that.

too many evens betray an aura of oddness.
wit failure.

erm. awkward pause.

it can end you know.
even if it's not a poem. a poem. poem.

...something undignified about a poem that refuses to end.
that is not really a poem. a poem. poem.