i hate poems.
i want to rip their delicious words
foot from tender foot & dont forget
their pretentious line breaks
their dramatic pauses;
with their rotten semi-colons.
i hate lyricism.
with the way words make you feel
with their senseless rambling
to slither down the inside of your skull
with their assault on reason and good taste
a hierarchy to some mystical pose the
grand larceny of emotion.
drives your senses dull and duller
insensate to the world around you
poems can make you wonder at the glory
of a man fed alive to pigs in a soviet work camp
or of the wonder of pin after pin
lovingly slid into tendon and flesh.
so it’s a statement about identity
culture
and abandonment.
don’t forget the words the dead have written
making wussy boys wussier &
seducing sensitive women to lie in bed with ghosts
reading themselves blind after hours
we all need glasses, we of stupid vision
so easily hypotized
it is better to be a dog or a wolf
to lie senseless in mud and snow
to hunt, run and fuck
eat grass & get drunk on the wind
climb rocks & see things no one has seen
better than trapping your forehead
in the bindings of things from shelley’s frankenstein
or william wordsworth who lay under a tree watching
farm hands work
writing about grass and hills
& english peace.
BAH
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