La Dee Frickin Da
[Editor's Note: For those of you who have never been to a poetry slam, not only are you going to be even more lost than normal with what follows, but you have not lived the life of a baller. How do I know? I'll let you ponder that one for a while...]
I'm on a bus.
But not just any bus,
the kind that makes your head spin in blissful nausea as you run your hands through your eyes
The dizzyness will go away...but it doesn't.
It doesn't!
IT DOESN'T!!
Unable to escape relentless tremors, engines roaring, murmers poaring thoughts about who gives a crap.
And then.
Impossibly I'm back in the soothing net of serenity, caught up, willing pr
ey, why can't it be like this every day, what's for dinner, who's to say, and all I want to do is breathe.
A night unerring in its purpose...can this be true?
The ouzo in my veins says aye.
But who nowadays says aye? Maybe an old-time codger with a bone to pick.
Makes me sick, to think of what life has become in the grand scheme of what will it all amount to.
Why am I still up at 5 in the morning?
A little something called loyalty in case you haven't heard.
Times like these make me realize the path I've chosen ain't so rosy as I'd hoped.
Just the thorns.
Does watching sports make me a conformist cuz if it does I'd rather be "in the ranks" than feeling "independent" as I use other people's cliche's to criticize the Man.
Speaking of which: does Manning have the manliness to manhandle what unmans?
I couldn't resist.
People need to see what's got me all giddy inside I just can't hide the feeling of a thousand yays-goin' insane-gotta tell someone-don't matter if I act the fool-it just feels right.
Say we're going to a WHAT kind of a bar?
Oh no, not me. I don't DO country western, see?
But again I relearn Dr. Seuss, the lesson of green eggs & ham, and I don't even know someone named Sam I Am!
Shoot, that ain't country!
Not the kind that makes my skin crawl under the bed in the hopes that the monsters will put it out of its misery.
And so I go under. Under under under, until I sink into the depths of late night lascivity, licking last leavings from liquor-laced liquid, leaping lowly to latent melodies, laughing lordly at luckily unfamiliar ladies lusting after locales I know better than to love.
You wanna go to Nashville?
And now come questions streaming forth, ants sent by their mistress to retrieve their dutied burden.
But I in turn but one must ask, and of one heard correctly, not believed.
So I felt just, and do not even now shrink from the confession of my query.
And here it is
To end this rant
Your name is Iota, like the letter?
*Blurriness simulates actual conditions of bar
I'm on a bus.
But not just any bus,
the kind that makes your head spin in blissful nausea as you run your hands through your eyes
The dizzyness will go away...but it doesn't.
It doesn't!
IT DOESN'T!!
Unable to escape relentless tremors, engines roaring, murmers poaring thoughts about who gives a crap.
And then.
Impossibly I'm back in the soothing net of serenity, caught up, willing pr
ey, why can't it be like this every day, what's for dinner, who's to say, and all I want to do is breathe.A night unerring in its purpose...can this be true?
The ouzo in my veins says aye.
But who nowadays says aye? Maybe an old-time codger with a bone to pick.
Makes me sick, to think of what life has become in the grand scheme of what will it all amount to.
Why am I still up at 5 in the morning?
A little something called loyalty in case you haven't heard.
Times like these make me realize the path I've chosen ain't so rosy as I'd hoped.
Just the thorns.
Does watching sports make me a conformist cuz if it does I'd rather be "in the ranks" than feeling "independent" as I use other people's cliche's to criticize the Man.
Speaking of which: does Manning have the manliness to manhandle what unmans?
I couldn't resist.
People need to see what's got me all giddy inside I just can't hide the feeling of a thousand yays-goin' insane-gotta tell someone-don't matter if I act the fool-it just feels right.
Say we're going to a WHAT kind of a bar?
Oh no, not me. I don't DO country western, see?
But again I relearn Dr. Seuss, the lesson of green eggs & ham, and I don't even know someone named Sam I Am!
Shoot, that ain't country!
Not the kind that makes my skin crawl under the bed in the hopes that the monsters will put it out of its misery.
And so I go under. Under under under, until I sink into the depths of late night lascivity, licking last leavings from liquor-laced liquid, leaping lowly to latent melodies, laughing lordly at luckily unfamiliar ladies lusting after locales I know better than to love.
You wanna go to Nashville?
And now come questions streaming forth, ants sent by their mistress to retrieve their dutied burden.But I in turn but one must ask, and of one heard correctly, not believed.
So I felt just, and do not even now shrink from the confession of my query.
And here it is
To end this rant
Your name is Iota, like the letter?
*Blurriness simulates actual conditions of bar
posted by Jeremy LaBuff at 11:16 AM
1 Comments:
Not only have I been to a poetry slam, I have also participated in two and organized one.
There are country western bars in Greece? That sounds interesting...
How is Travel Scrabble treating you?
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