poem
mi ritrovaiI was plunked:
gadfly jitters, they
was swarmin the corpse
of our feast:
Noodletown ain't got
jitters in spirals,
they's the ones
with master plans,
5-year tooting,
scope and sequence
down Dante's dirty
dirt road; forget
the wood,
clearcut into
hellcat oblivion:
I was polite in
the old days,
now's I just
craters: it's all
in the synch,
all in
the run for cover.
Labels: oscura
posted by murat11 at 5:57 PM
4 Comments:
Muy oscura, but a great poem. I love the picture, and the jittery sentiments of the rhythm of your words.
Forgot to give props to Dee for the prompts: plunky jittery spirals and State 3A baseball playoffs - all worthy of the poeta italiano del tredicesimo (e XIV) secolo . . .
love the hellcat oblivion and the picture is eerie cool - is it local or a web find?
I think master plans are the quickest way to hell - too bad you can't see the scope and sequence ahead of time so you could get off that dirt road before the muck and mud claims you.
"I was polite in the old days, now's I just craters"
That line just kind of rolls around in my mind.
The boys lost their last game - Chase played with a spiral fracture, even diving for a base. Sad to work so hard but someone always has to lose.
Yo, Dee: Web find. Did this poem first in response to your earlier comment, then transposed it here. I liked your prompty words; got no idea how we wandered on into Dante's dark wood. Tristi per quei ragazzi baseball.
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