Guest book and Reviews.

Riding the Manic Swing

Note: this is a poem to hear. It is in fact, a phat bad rap.


I be whirling
like a dervish of tornadic hue,
feeding a brain storm
flinging the blue.
I be spinning like a turnip
Turnin'in my grave ..

a blithering basket,
taking a catnap,
burying hatchets,
catching the catnip,
crying in my soup ..

cutt’n the rug

I be
barking at the sunset
croonin’ at the moon
yapping like a lapdog
singing in tune.

I be zoomin
my zoom lens
shout’n down mimes
paint’n the town
with turpentine and wine

I be
mad as a hornet
playing his cornet
dancing in the torrents
of fire and hail.
I be
happy as lark park
singing in the grey dark
outside a Wal-Mat,
holding a pierced heart…
oddly in love with who knows who…

I be jubilant with twitter,
half-baked and fritter,
flinging and singing and loosening screws,
I be ….
hopeless and haunted and dancin’ in the pain

I be
riding the manic swing.

No comments:

Post a Comment