Poetry Archives Bio
February 7, 2007
3:35 AM
poet vs. poem
To Coffee and Bipolar Disorder

i am the master
of alabaster
the best of
athens and troy

the pussy's hitter
and the largest
i eviscerate and destroy

the song of the marrow
and entropy's
and keyboard remappings galore

i see no reason
why the cruelest
shouldn't be my cockring whore

at the slightest
joggle or jiggle
of syllabic erratum or glitch

i see no cause
why the poet's
shouldn't be rhymezone.com's bitch

giggling  don't bite me
and tumbling
in spite of my want to appease

manic depressive
in present progressive
we aim
and we cum to please

shifting with weather
and carnal pleasure
i court
and avert disaster

i am the best
of the unimpressed
breathing in
coffee  faster and faster

the head is the king
and the left hand is
and the index finger is god

to the bland
or the childhood you never had

and the moon is red
and the night is young
to slowly chew
and enjoy

for the master of
and marble
the best of athens and troy

the poet
transfixed enmeshed
intertwined interwoven and whole

and indissolute
doesn't know
how to finish his poem

so he climbs
to the top of his rhymes
and observes
paper tigers in thrall of sex

and he listens
and slowly recalls
from his scrawls
the regression of y on x

and the poet
deploys a decoy
and attempts his poem to end

but the poem
with a mind of its own
refuses to comprehend

so he pauses
and thinks
and grows desperate
breaks rhyme scheme and scansion and rhythm

but the poem
a poet now
has in mind a cute algorithm

if A is B
and B is C
then the and A and the C
can now mate

and make D
and E
and then maybe F
that will further procreate

and will yield G
H and I
which will see
to J and K

and the latter
not to be
will LMNO convey

the N and the O
P and Q will beget
which the R and S
won't mind

and those two
will father
T and U
little Vs running behind

the U will
split then
Ws producing next

and then X
and Y
and maybe even Z
will then have some crazy old sex

they'll conjugate
and pluralize
and do
other dirty tricks

while the poet
already sick
of their games
will begin his poem to fix

he will write
to the bird
gimme back my words
and will make friends with an elephant

who will stomp
and stamp out
la revolución
and will make punctuation irrelevant

he will eat
by handfuls at breakfast
and then snack on semicolons

he will make
to the interrobang
and then put into comas the commas

he will make
a sculpture
of his own flesh
and will then stay forever stung

and will get
sight rhymes
to always stay fresh
law of gravity his weltanschauung

and his lines will get
longer and longer
and the day that he will cease to be

his poem
will play
bass clarinet
under the chestnut tree

it will then
a clever epitaph
for the whole wide world to enjoy

here lies
the master
of alabaster
the best of athens and troy