In 2011, my apartment was robbed.
And they took my computer.
And with it, almost everything I had written.
I'm not going to lie -- it pretty much destroyed my creative spirit. I had so much on there. I labored on. Continued to "create" by writing assignments here and there. But I had lost so much. I just couldn't entertain the idea of revisiting that world.
Until recently.
Until I read this book. It was a real game changer.
And it hit me: I have tons of material. Let me find it and revisit it. Do something with it.
And that's where I am today. Digging through boxes looking for hard copy print-outs of my work. From the the days before clouds, blogs or external hard drives; from the days before the internet and social media.
I found his gem tonight. Probably one of my favorite poems. Enjoy.
Crazy Words
You bury your nose
in T.S Eliot, Rilke,
and the other Dylan.
Drink latte at the coffee joint
down the street
that used to be a GAP.
Your interest holds
past the classics
and you get turned on
to the common man's poet -
Chuck Bukowski.
The cigarette adds punch to the caffeine.
Suddenly everyone
neglects this beautiful world
'cept the street man
who spits out verse
worthy of press any time for a dime.
Late nights are spent
transcribing tapes of him
to go in a special section of
the 'zine you publish.
Not much left to do
since "alternative" became mainstream.
I mock you when I read.
Get up there loaded;
not original but sincere.
And shout my words to your tired ears.
My chaos
whips you into a frenzy
like mutants at a
GG Allin show:
Strung out and stumbling.
I fight not to lose it.
Maintain control,
Amidst what seems,
Certain and inevitable destruction.
Crazy words drool from
a crazy man.
Going mad in a mad, mad world.
And you say,"That's not poetry."
