This mans body
is so fucking rock solid
one kick
and he could kill ya
i swear
that's how strong his leg is
not to mention the fist
that beats the rhythm of love
back and forth
up and down
Then there's Mr. Useless
delivering burgers
on bikes
in Montevideo
gold chain flapping in the wind
peddling faster and faster
as he races to make his next delivery
Karma's a bitch
ain't it?
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Killer Ending
two things i loved about this piece (probably more...but two things that i loved immediately) were: 1. the line - "Then there's Mr. Useless"...i had to go back to the beginning because for a minute i thought i missed something! lol...silly me. I felt like i was in the middle of one of your interrupted thoughts...know what i mean? and i liked it.
And, 2. of course, the ending...and yes...it is...
UB
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I am beating the rhythm of love right now, but mostly only up and down.
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i knew one guy, who was both of these blokes, he could switch like a blade and confuse the fuck outta ya... but hell, what a ride at times, strange how life is and how plumery comes out in real life with such feisty lines and karma is a bitch with 3 and half inch heels and whiplass smile... and then karma also wears a halo and wings made out of fine linen and gossamer and she's a two-timing whore in the kitchen of life
what a ride
what a ride
thanks Desi, i needed this tonight
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Ya know--
poetry hasn't got a whole lot to do with words, and certainly not with the way they are arranged upon the page--often we will find a convoluted vocabulary jammed together in an inane syntax for the sake of a pointless rhyme to justify a cliched couplet at the end of an empty abstraction.---
which touches nothing inside. Some insist, however, that this is how poetry should be, pointless, shallow, and simplistic. A fallow place where the words are baby dolls which need to be dressed over and over again tho staying pretty much the same.
Still, like Caesar they are ambitious, and claim it's written in stone that this should be so--
Like Catullus I mourn for Lesbia's sparrow, and do not care how the deed was done, only that it is so, tell me simply I am not too quick--
I find, when I stumble across a poem, I must wipe away a tear or a half smile, seems to me a poem should do that...
rather than filling 23 down with pompous, and 17 across with ass; but then I would not know whether a headless iamb has absolutely anything whatsoever to do with whether the previous line ended with a hypermetrical; now would I?
No, I suppose not. Nevertheless, a fucking good romp through poem land is always good for a jism or two tho rock hard men are hardly my forte, one knows no-one better than Desi to trace their curves or to leave an indelible memory for that boy on that bike;
and maybe when you come right down to it that ache is what it's all about when one goes to write a poem, or to have the hubris to tell someone how to...
IMHO, acourse.
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It was worth coming here for two reasons. Firstly the piece where one reads and reads again and sighs at the sudden realisation that so few people write well and when you see someone who does how it stabs you. I loved this.
Then there's Mr. Useless delivering burgers on bikes
in Montevideo gold chain flapping in the wind peddling faster and faster
And I also loved Tom's comment - an essay in itself.
often we will find a convoluted vocabulary jammed together in an inane syntax for the sake of a pointless rhyme to justify a cliched couplet at the end of an empty abstraction which touches nothing inside. Some insist, however, that this is how poetry should be, pointless, shallow, and simplistic. A fallow place where the words are baby dolls which need to be dressed over and over again tho staying pretty much the same. Still, like Caesar they are ambitious, and claim it's written in stone that this should be so--
quite frankly that should be in stone with that first guy perhaps doing the chiselling
Great piece from both of you
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I actually really like this..
the contrast between the two men
because I have known them both at some point in my life.
I know that strong guy
ain't he fun, too...
and the poor kid on the bike plugging away at life with more fight and determination than any strong guy can ever usually muster.
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blah
breaking up the lines doesn't turn bad prose into good poetry.
and cursing is rarely needed in poetry. -
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Your awesome.
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