|
by Eliseo Martinez
New
Word
poet.
I hate that word.
makes me think of fags, of well-read ladies with roses
stuck
up their asses --
of coffee-stained teeth and dog-eared notebooks --
of flowers and magic and unicorn saccharine --
of pink lace around everything --
of rain in the soul and umbrellas that don't work --
of half-mad old men suffering from self-delusion --
of thin boys unable to engage in fisticuffs or sport --
of incomprehensible academic nausea --
of bombs that don't explode or kill --
of greengreengreen grass and rolling in it forever and
ever
--
of a five second happiness
…a
four second happiness …
...
a three second happiness …
I want a new
word.
a new word that will leave stains and scars
on concrete floors --
a word that allows a smile-song-fuck-you at death --
a word that blends the soul with hot night air --
a word that creams girls' panties into blooming
backseat
sunsets --
a word that follows the heart-beat with another
heart-beat --
a word strong as the roots of all light --
a word flammable as a star with gasoline running through its veins
--
a word that makes the preacher sweat, ask God why --
a word that brings you eye to eye with your own pain, where
you
win
forever
and
ever.
I like heart-blood-warrior-of-the-13th-light-against-god-
and-ungod,
but
I guess that's too long.
ah, fuck it!
call me eliseo or mr. martinez.
never call me a goddamn poet.
Passing Strangers Holding Hands, Letting Go
She gave me
a wide berth in the dark road
as we passed each other by.
She had the face of the orange flavored
Kool-Aid Man having a spiritual breakdown
in the humid Texas heat.
I let it go
at that.
More
Poetry Row ...
----
Reader Comments
From: Mike
Sammons
Date: 3 May 2003
I have an excellent word for e. martine: sucky
|
