In Digestion
In Digestion
fake poets, wearing "I can't write" jeans, sliding in grease along a stage constructed from their own wooden cliches, dead from the top of the head upwards, these people shall inherit the earthworm.
yeah, well, errrrm, hum, yeah, ok, I dunno, articulation is not my fing, who cares, SHUT IT YOU MUPPET, blah blah blah
Re: In Digestion
I haven't worn jeans in five years. I hung them on your stage, the one bulging in your ego. If you hadn't looked, and I know you would never let down that guard, but the operation is underway. And be sure, though I like earthworms, the inheritance is a whole lot more. There is no golden prize, only love. And even Leonard sang that.
'In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer' - Albert Camus
Re: In Digestion
Dylan died yesterday. Nothing else matters
yeah, well, errrrm, hum, yeah, ok, I dunno, articulation is not my fing, who cares, SHUT IT YOU MUPPET, blah blah blah
Re: In Digestion
Come with us
'In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer' - Albert Camus
Re: In Digestion
I'm so sorry my dear friend - he seemed like such a good dog and I'm so sorry that he's had to leave you and all of the people who loved him.Sideways wrote:Dylan died yesterday. Nothing else matters
Re: In Digestion
I'm sorry, too. I didn't know.
'In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer' - Albert Camus
Re: In Digestion
Sideways,
Your lines reminded me of another old poem I found in my storage boxes:
She bounces through the day now
in her size 18 “I’M PUBLISHED” T-shirt,
stretched bum-tight right above her bulbous double-knees.
Only invested $70 in the anthology to see
her one verse on Page 443.
No one can take their eyes off of her
and they all agree
That’s one proud “poet” in motion.
Your lines reminded me of another old poem I found in my storage boxes:
She bounces through the day now
in her size 18 “I’M PUBLISHED” T-shirt,
stretched bum-tight right above her bulbous double-knees.
Only invested $70 in the anthology to see
her one verse on Page 443.
No one can take their eyes off of her
and they all agree
That’s one proud “poet” in motion.
Re: In Digestion
I like the image going on here as well as the bite. I like the idea of the poet as a carpenter hammering together pieces of wooden cliches, to form a stage as opposed to a cross - he can keep his earthworms though.Sideways wrote:fake poets, wearing "I can't write" jeans, sliding in grease along a stage constructed from their own wooden cliches,
I can't help but think of "all the lousy little poets/ coming round/tryin' to sound like Charlie Manson", probably because I'm on a Leonard Cohen page.
dar wrote:Your lines reminded me of another old poem I found in my storage boxes:
She bounces through the day now
in her size 18 “I’M PUBLISHED” T-shirt,
stretched bum-tight right above her bulbous double-knees.
Only invested $70 in the anthology to see
her one verse on Page 443.
No one can take their eyes off of her
and they all agree
That’s one proud “poet” in motion.
That's a very likable picture of a proud poet, I can't keep from smiling when I read it.