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Poets, Poets, Poets
by Jolie Blond
08/09/05
Poets, poets, poets.
I've read the lives of poets
and writing poetry
is like rubbing your johnson in public:
feels good
but horrifies onlookers.
Poets, poets, poets:
they try to put YOUR lipstick on
in the dark
and what you get,
if they don't know lips--
don't REALLY know lips--
is a jagged clown face.
Poets, poets, poets,
every mundane twitch
of a willow tree,
every suspicion of willow tone,
must be de-constructed, reconstructed
bi-polarly
with Jacobean melancholy
or Joan of Arc fervor
for something lovely as a tree.
Poets, poets, poets,
always shadowing
their own footsteps,
retracing them often
as if trying to outsmart
the posse's bloodhounds.
Poets and serial killers,
they think they're so smart,
but some forensics professor somewhere
will always catch them out,
expose them,
and perpetrate their imprisonment
in one kind of box
or another.
Poets and serial killers:
why would anyone
chose that life?
Don't they know
we all have ADHD
and will forget their
witty, wily, wanton glory
by the next commercial?
Tags: poets, poet, poetry, spoken word, art, literature, Level5Dworc, Room 463, rambling about love, dream of a funeral, Jolie Blond, YouTube
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