As a child, I'd stuff my face with chocolate till stomach and head
made me wish I was dead. I'd call for God on the big white telephone,
but he'd never answer. I was a dreamer back then, and a little bit crazy,
but then some say you have to be to survive in this world.
When older, I came across a new kind of candy to help me with my
stomach and headaches, but you know how it is; one taste makes you
curious about another, and so on and so forth, till you'll try just about
anything to catch a buzz. Most of it was bitter to the tongue, but boy
could I dream! The new candy was tailor made for someone like me.
And whenever I'd eat some, the world would go away for a while,
though a little harder to survive in upon returning.
Got to be I didn't want to face it at all. It went on for years,
then finally out of desperation, I threw myself to the psychiatrists.
They picked my head clean of all the candy, then booted me back
into the world with some stern advice about how it was my duty to
stay alive as long as possible.
While all this was going on though, I was learning how to make
my own candy, completely different from anything I'd ever tasted.
Discovered it by chance one night, sitting around listening to the radio.
Alice Cooper was singing Hello! Hurray! in-between news reports
from a place called Vietnam. All kinds of emotions building up inside,
till finally I grabbed pen and paper and proceeded to spill my guts;
no need for the big white telephone.
Now, aside from an occasional chocolate bar, it's the only candy I
enjoy, and sometimes if I listen hard enough, God whispers to me
new ingredients to mix into my computer.
Author's Note: Published in the chapbook, Executive Sweet, A Collection of Poetry by TOPS (The Ontario Poetry Society) Executives, May 2007, Toronto, ON. ISBN 978-0-9783371-2-4
Well Chris, I don't know about that candy. Never really got hooked on anything but fishing a little for words. Never caught much but the time alone was worth it. I like the write.
I guess, we all go through this process in our candy development, and I haven't reached that point, nevertheless, I wonder if it is possible to overdose on poetry, both the reading and the writing of it. For certain, there is no high quite like it, save you are talking about my ex girl, on whom I am still high, for whom I would chuck all the poems I ever wrote, if I could reclaim her candy goodness, from whose heights, I swear, I will never come down, though I am down from holding on to such candy as is reserved only for the gods. I can't deny, I felt like a god for a time. But then my time was up, and now I feel like the ultimate chump.
