Throwing Bones
Silence might kind of sting now The forest and I had a fight Now the birds are cold shouldering me and the bugs are getting in my eyes The neighbors are restless If those are the neighbors tromping about Trampling my focus Amazed by everything Interminably loud I'll crank my volume up too then Roar my poetry til it shakes down some leaves "Delighted to meet everybody" I'll boom "It's not exhausting at all feeling everything so deeply" "If you really listen to the way the verses interplay I think you'll find the message is clearly go away" I guess they never get it because they stay Sure art's subjective but it isn't today I have a clear point in my line of sight Something profound like "Most people mostly lie" I have no idea if that's true Which reinforces my thesis but I'm struck with surly sentiments that keep away transcendence What gangly monster am I writing here and what does it need to accomplish It's never for nothing What waits to emerge til now Something important tends to eventually spill out Important to poets anyway who walk around pondering big questions like "do onions know?" It's still hard to believe such investigations can earn a living but I've seen the proof they can earn a subsisting Most art is starved by capitalism til it can only be known by throwing bones If I won't say that's ok does that tacitly condone the insurrection Could it possibly even matter Poetry's lost on redneck petulance I am lost and not entirely loathing it I find fragments of fulfillment in fits Count the rings of a hundred trees hacked down in a killing spree to clear some clean air out of the way of humanity Like any invasive species we massacre what we please Make homes of our stolen habitats So comfy and pretty The dead and displaced just Manifest Destiny We stroll by souls slumped in streets Spare them snack money barely Take pity rarely It's all so vibrant and fatal Such deprivation drowned out by so much first world festivity Sickening smog choking our therapy dogs The clash of cussing crazies and catcalling carnies So many points lose their edge So many meanings get mulled over and spooled out well past their mark Teenage folly distracts me Kids bragging too big for their britches Trashing the trap house across from the park Blaring songs full of slurs A little light on heart Is youth no longer a synonym for idealism I try to detect some social conscience and I'm traumatized by a twerking trainwreck I don't know for sure every substance they're on but they're so wide open they're like a meal for cops It presents a dim view as the day falls to dark I regard them over my notebook seeking some substance in their rebellion's spark But these kids won't fight conformity They seem like the type to fight to conform Same swagger Same style Depressingly uniform My disappointment is unreasonable Unfathomable Sudden rain slashes at me sharply like God caught me judging so I caught the storm I lurch away from lances of lightning Run rumpled through the downpour Admonished by my Lord