I felt a funeral, in my brain
when i am in poetics class.
i sit here
bored
waiting for something to happen.
i am tired of literal images.
i am tired of studying syntax and inflection.
i am tired of a windowless room.
Monday, September 22, 2008
அன் இரோனிக் உஸ் ஒப் ஆஃஉஇரெட் ச்கில்ல்ஸ் (An Ironic Use of Acquired Skills)
I felt a funeral, in my brain
when i am in poetics class.
i sit here
bored
waiting for something to happen.
i am tired of literal images.
i am tired of studying syntax and inflection.
i am tired of a windowless room.
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6 comments:
your blank verse offends
when did it become
poetry
to write prose
and add line breaks
whimsically
you write wall posts like this
also
also
where did you learn tamil
it is always poetry
to make art
if you say it is
i've always known tamil. i'm surprised we've never discussed this.
Also your tense is confused in the first two lines... but I support boredom as inspiration anyways.
Brautigan has your back Bernice:
"Death is a beautiful car parked only
to be stolen on a street lined with trees
whose branches are like the intestines
of an emerald.
You hotwire death, get in, and drive away
like a flag made from a thousand burning
funeral parlors.
You have stolen death because you're bored.
There's nothing good playing at the movies
in San Francisco.
You joyride around for a while listening
to the radio, and then abandon death, walk
away, and leave death for the police
to find. "
set
and match
there once was a man named john mckend, who walked into traffic and that was the end.
I'm all for stealing
cars.
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