Thursday, April 16, 2015

Bad Poetry

I want to write bad poetry
about you: recycled tropes,
archaic language—let me
count the ways, desperate,
predictable, exhaustive eye similes—
like grains of sand or stars…

I want to write poetry so bad
you become unrecognizable,
not trace of a person: imagined
ideals, undigested inheritance
of solipsist romantic, rose colored
glasses already beginning to crack.

I want to write heartbreak:
shattered and splintered,
preemptive and total, tempting
nihilist conversion, life vacant
and meaningless, alternating
use of lonesome and lonely.           

I want to write fiction: every twist
planned, crafted story-arches,
familiar epilogue, formula
followed like liturgy; rather
than write one transparent and
simple line: humdrum

menu debates, half-smiles,
forced laugh generosity, sipping
coffee in an empty shop
scrawling thoughts, blank stare,
the vacant chair across the table,
wishing you were coming.

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