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a spoonful of sugar
by Jared Fladelandwords are a disposable art.
watch me throwaway my meaning
as i intend to investigate the
parameters of analytical digression
to the point of profound prodigal virtuosity.
i am a poet,
proud of panic,
given the right to be angry
by some internal imbalance
given to me by a series of misunfortunate
inopportunities.
I wallow in wicked woe because
dickinson was a hermit
and I listen for meaning in concrete walls
like
cummings.
I'm breaking conventions all the time,
like Capitalizing the Uncapitalized
after setting up a routine in a poem.
precision? This is all just random.
Heady poetry much?
Thinking isn't so bad.
hit me in the gut like a football player
ripping off my head, and punting it through the uprights.
ethereal, man. yeah. ethereal. 12/29/2007 Posted on 12/29/2007
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 12/29/07 at 08:49 PM This is kindred with those who came before, and of whom we know... may even meet on the playing field as we try to make our way as poets. I like this one, the honesty, the insight, the energy. |
| Posted by Scott Cadence on 01/01/08 at 07:18 PM the nail never saw what was coming with this one... great piece. :0) |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/15/08 at 02:47 PM Cool. |
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