Better or Verse - "Brand-New Effervescent Action"
Nothing is as sweet as this moment
caught improbably between the teeth like a bullet.
To mentally calculate the odds of such a thing ending well
is about as wise
respectful
appropriate
and advisable
as biting down.
The properly appreciative state
(and I don't know how to achieve this, but I'm trying nonetheless)
Is one of unconscious, reflexive grace
Drunk, giggling and balancing on a moving El Camino's hood
The Roadrunner, post- cliff edge
But pre- looking down.
caught improbably between the teeth like a bullet.
To mentally calculate the odds of such a thing ending well
is about as wise
respectful
appropriate
and advisable
as biting down.
The properly appreciative state
(and I don't know how to achieve this, but I'm trying nonetheless)
Is one of unconscious, reflexive grace
Drunk, giggling and balancing on a moving El Camino's hood
The Roadrunner, post- cliff edge
But pre- looking down.
The rare Metaphorical Luna Moth
(cue the turquoise and crystals and incense)
Would be the perfect spirit guide
Antennae unfurled, gratefully receiving
Vibrations, visions, glowing pollen specks
Happy little twitches that haven't happened quite yet.
The moon is bright. Breath crystallized. Her hair spread across a fresh-chalked goal line.
The lake's blood-warm. Sky melted Creamsicle. World saturated in liquefied sun.
You do not think about the harshly bright awkwardness of the next morning.
You do not think about driving back to Providence on sopping wet upholstery.
You just jump in.
(cue the turquoise and crystals and incense)
Would be the perfect spirit guide
Antennae unfurled, gratefully receiving
Vibrations, visions, glowing pollen specks
Happy little twitches that haven't happened quite yet.
The moon is bright. Breath crystallized. Her hair spread across a fresh-chalked goal line.
The lake's blood-warm. Sky melted Creamsicle. World saturated in liquefied sun.
You do not think about the harshly bright awkwardness of the next morning.
You do not think about driving back to Providence on sopping wet upholstery.
You just jump in.
Labels: Bad Poetry, Best Of, The Compleat Thumbscrew
posted by thumbscre.ws at
12/31/2006
5 Comments:
Holy shit, wow. Who is he?
A chimera. A composite sketch. The contents of the briefcase in Pulp Fiction, the words exchanged at the end of Lost in Translation.
And on a completely unrelated note, I never let someone know when I've written about them. It's like waking up to find a deer drinking from your birdbath. That kind of subtle magic works best when neither party fully acknowledges it.
I understand this one! Hee!
The moon isn't bright white--it has a greenish cast to it, which makes the luna moth's beauty even more unbearable.
IMHO, that is. This poem might actually be about vampires coming after us.
What, do you mean the poem isn't about vampires coming after us? Duuuuuude.
*fang*
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