Dear Elle,

Here is the recently constructed poem I've kept meaning to show you: Still a first draft, so, yeah:



cross the south river
____________

Maybe it's just because I'm uncertain
about the near future,
but when I look at a thousand miles
of black sky above the freeway
while driving home, I convince myself
I can see the edge of darkness, where
meteors fall and stars converge.

Even with the windows down, and pavement
passing underneath me at eighty miles an hour,
I can hear the angels whispers reverberate
against Route 50's sound barriers.

The moon's reflection in South River
is my very own heaven. It is not fake;
It remains in still water even out of my
vision, when trees obstruct it.

Maybe it's just because I'm uncertain,
and wish to remind myself of all the
stars I haven't visited, and the
thousands of miles my car
can never take me.


There's another poem sitting around here somewhere, that really isn't constructed at all. It's a bunch of lines bunched together that needs some serious formatting.


This is not that poem, but something I jumbled together the other day. I don't like it, but I think I could make it better. Just not sure how.


________

Untitled #1

I enjoy watching car crashes; sometimes
the vehicles will careen out of control,
spinning like young children with their
hands intertwined, yet under the same sun
and with the same recklessness.

Now and then I will smile and compose
myself in front of CNN, with eyes locked
at the latest portrait of political incompetence.
Watching today's leaders squirm is a sort of
drug for me. Some prefer marijuana or coke.
To each his own.

I drink beer and rewind the same VHS tape of:
an exploding building, a burning bridge, a
widow crying,
a shot in the dark,
over and over.





Ok, last but not least, courtesy from my friend Doug:


Interesting signs which point that Teletubbies was programming to prepare the British children for a big brother police state when they are older. All of the signs are there and are as follows.

They can only eat custard and that toast stuff.

The toast has a smiley face, and so forces them to think that they are happy.

They are completely dumbed down, unable to speak coherently or count to more than 10 ( see: utter morons)

They have very few, and pointless possessions, (tinky winky has a hand bag, which could be useful, but he has nothing to put in it.)

The children are told they are being watched, because the teletubies watch them on thier stomachs.

They show everyone as equal ( gays, black and whites living together however this is to show that everyone will be slaves, regardless of race, gender or orientation).

That vaccum cleaner keeps an eye on them, and makes sure they do what is acceptable.

The sun looks over them, and gets angry when they step out of line, which shows the harsh brutality of the future police.

They have a curfew.

They are physically weak (awkward posture when running and fall over easily).

They are obviously drugged, seeing as how theyre always laughing.

and obviously

They are told what to do by speakers that come out of the ground.



___



yr hmbl & obt svt,



kev ¶ 2:57 AM |