poem: lidhje gjaku
shell casings in
the bubble,
demographic pylons -
is it any wonder -
nashville cheesy grits all
on they gold-toothed display -
the lone Stetson -
belly girls dance
they belly ways down
the belly aisles,
come hither /
hithercome
organic the inorganic
knot in the
basal climes,
your nougaty despair
gives way to totem
animals, sampling the crackling
curls waiting at the 5
& Dime, solicitous affairs
of the stony hearts,
stony fields strewn
with delicious rubble
consanguinity abides in
moocows of the delectably
elegant: prop your
ways, prop your
days: let the perils linger, flash-bellied
thistle peril worth
waiting for, in your
teensy-weensy limestone
cottage of the
savoir-faire.
the bubble,
demographic pylons -
is it any wonder -
nashville cheesy grits all
on they gold-toothed display -
the lone Stetson -
belly girls dance
they belly ways down
the belly aisles,
come hither /
hithercome
organic the inorganic
knot in the
basal climes,
your nougaty despair
gives way to totem
animals, sampling the crackling
curls waiting at the 5
& Dime, solicitous affairs
of the stony hearts,
stony fields strewn
with delicious rubble
consanguinity abides in
moocows of the delectably
elegant: prop your
ways, prop your
days: let the perils linger, flash-bellied
thistle peril worth
waiting for, in your
teensy-weensy limestone
cottage of the
savoir-faire.
posted by murat11 at 12:42 PM
6 Comments:
what u talking about? I'm just really trying to see if this post gets published. Then, i will try to make sense. but. i really don't know what ur talking about.
Oh Lord, girl, you done wandered into a hornet's nest. First thing you should know (which will probably hasten your exit from the "poetry" dive) is that I am not after any sense whatsoever - in most cases. The best comparison I can make is to say that 97% of my poems are collages. Picture a floor full of images all over the place, a piece of paper and a glue stick. I'm picking up words, rhythms, what have you's. If you were to walk around with me in the hours before I write a poem, you'd see hints of what that glue stick is up to . . . suspend your brain, it's more of a dance routine than anything. And it's okay not to "get" it and definitely okay not to like it at all. It's an acquired taste, like REALLY flat Big Red (or acetone).
I'd say you must have written this on an empty stomach with all those cheesy grits and nougats and cracklin's and moocows in your flat bellies.
Love the starting photo. It adds a certain elegance to your hunger pangs.
Oh, there was hunger aplenty, and the flat bellies definitely were not mine . . .(:-D)
I see, your word was "flash-bellied" as in a belly so big it peeps out and flashes the world?? I don't think you're there yet, bro.
Jennifer Beals . . . Flashdance . . . I definitely ain't there, sis.
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