“In the age of romance and chivalry, steam seeped through open hearts now it’s a gas leak up the nose and on fire. Love is now combustible. Love is now the library. Love is now the golden gilded spine of ancient text.
July 1st 2017.”
like: “love is now the library”
dislike: “ancient text”
Here’s the new version. As you can see, I’ve added a title and altered the imagery. This poem did not undergo a heavy edit, and that’s okay. Sometimes, I write a long poem only to keep one or two lines, or images, or ideas. Other times, like in this case, I keep it mostly the same.
King Arthur was a Tragedy
In the age of romance and chivalry
steam seeped through open hearts
now it’s a gas leak.
Up the nose.
Love is now combustible.
Love is now the library.
Love is now the golden
gilded spine of mildew books
that bury in your head
songs and hatchets alike.
It’s been a while since I wrote here and I’ll tell you why. JOBS. Two of them.
This is newly written, and like my earlier stream of consciousness poem, I took a whole page and threw out some words.
here’s a legible version:
I to my perils
came not like A.E. Housman
clad in armor by stars benign.
I swam to them in my PJs
water logged, hair kinked
and trouble was a bonfire.
I was the mosquito and the jet was my blood meal.
Whoever shaved before 8th grade wished too hard for time to pass
and passing is the great curse and gift of prickly knees.
I dragged myself through marshes by tufts of leg hair
to which I gleamed a shining eye to Hope
I’d not trifle with a fleeting love
or mad money and me, the poet,
the victim of my own desires.
If I was a better friend, the last line
would have been my own design.