Tuesday, September 28, 2004
a discourse on change....
Is What Changed Me
is what changed me?
am i malleable, caught and torn
off of a sharp metal edge? is it
up the stairs, off a main street in
a small town bar? or jammed up
somewhere between coastal towns
with cute names that all sell the
same beach swag and tired
dreams?
flight scares me, but in
moments of stillness,
i am more scared to
look back, see a tangled
path of grin bottles
posthumously declaring love
an army of delusions fire cannon-
shots of uncertainty, drying out
quenched fires of blackness with light,
where description cannot contain
vibrant mixtures of sound and color
making up the flaming exposition.
t-shirts and thong sandals travel north, carried
by last ditch ideas, the final wave of a crying guitar
sent forward from stone fingers
walking, waiting for a conversation
between a blind man and a lost little girl,
inelegant answers to misshapen questions,
plastic thoughts framed by wild gestures,
arguments that surge against
the elements of self control
later, empty mirrors hold the shapes
that passed before,
the unlikely combination of light
and memory, just outlines of sandy feet
that stood over the traces of pasts
always near.
---------------
That was from an in-class freewrite. Not sure what to do with it but perhaps it is the beginning of a longer poem, albeit with cleared up symbolism and severe editing.... Oh well, off I go....and wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee....
cf
is what changed me?
am i malleable, caught and torn
off of a sharp metal edge? is it
up the stairs, off a main street in
a small town bar? or jammed up
somewhere between coastal towns
with cute names that all sell the
same beach swag and tired
dreams?
flight scares me, but in
moments of stillness,
i am more scared to
look back, see a tangled
path of grin bottles
posthumously declaring love
an army of delusions fire cannon-
shots of uncertainty, drying out
quenched fires of blackness with light,
where description cannot contain
vibrant mixtures of sound and color
making up the flaming exposition.
t-shirts and thong sandals travel north, carried
by last ditch ideas, the final wave of a crying guitar
sent forward from stone fingers
walking, waiting for a conversation
between a blind man and a lost little girl,
inelegant answers to misshapen questions,
plastic thoughts framed by wild gestures,
arguments that surge against
the elements of self control
later, empty mirrors hold the shapes
that passed before,
the unlikely combination of light
and memory, just outlines of sandy feet
that stood over the traces of pasts
always near.
---------------
That was from an in-class freewrite. Not sure what to do with it but perhaps it is the beginning of a longer poem, albeit with cleared up symbolism and severe editing.... Oh well, off I go....and wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee....
cf
