Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #49

I thought I was done
with parties in tiny houses
where you decorate red, plastic cups
with black markers,
where you gather around in circles,
your feet tucked underneath your legs,
because there aren’t enough chairs
for everybody,
where bags of chips lay untouched,
and empty pizza boxes
litter the floor –
the floor wet with muddied shoes and
melting winter,
where midnight sets the toll
for swinging hips and spilled beer bottles,
where bodies brush against each other
in the middle of drawling conversations
by the narrow hallway –

I thought I had graduated to
adult gatherings during holidays,
holding wine glasses against the light,
while eating little food set in tiny plates,
wearing high heels clicking against marbled floors,
laughing dryly at jokes aimed at
managers and executive directors,
reaching over to shake invisible dust
from your co-worker’s blazer,
just to briefly relish
the closest thing you can get
to human touch.

But last night I jumped at the opportunity
to throw a used copy of On the Road across the room,
to someone eager to take it home –
despite warnings from everybody
that it was a “masculine, self-indulgent tripe”
because I would take
casual discussions of literature
on a stomach empty except for Heineken,
any day
over ceviche and antipasto skewers
served on golden-lined plates
meant to be admired
rather than devoured.

Day to Day Poetry, poetry

Day to Day Poetry #4

Shisha and coffee,
Kerouac and Kurosawa,
Arianila and Stapel,
Saturated heat and a manic-depressive kitten,
Overpowering doubt and that gigantic effort to stay out of bed —
little tidbits that detail my days.


Three Little Birds

jack kerouac by raqueltee

jack kerouac by raqueltee

Take one: the future Ginsberg
Beard jutting out the sides of your chin
Ruffled, long hair, cigarette-spent lips
Yellow, crooked teeth
Who mouths nothing but philosophy and poetry
One: Descartes, Two: Wittgenstein, Three: Derrida
Praying to the great god Vladimir Nabokov
While deconstructing south rap and modern jazz
and jumping back and forth between imagined muses

Take two: the future Kerouac
Gathering secret prose and rendering it anonymous
Grieving in silence only to explode
In mind-numbing, fast-paced euphoria
Falling in love ONLY with Alpha Females
Climbing monuments at three in the morning
To decorate institutions with political graffiti
You will climb the highest mountains, German Kerouac
As you steer this plane across the Alps
and this world will be moulded according to your liking
the future Father of our anti-generation.

Take three: the future Cassady
The only death she will accept is self-exposure
Ride the valley on a one way trip to Nirvana
Full of: chemical highs, natural lows, and overwhelming peace
She will dot this universe with allusions and alliterations
and spread a cornucopia of love with the tip of her pen
and tell of ciphers that recounts the prose of disturbed children
desperate for love, searching for wholeness
in a disjointed place full of apathy and violence
collecting lessons and anecdotes to create
the anthology of this youthful city
using (always) the skins of Ginsberg and Kerouac
as illuminating back-story.