I found this written on a quasi-folded scrap sheet of paper lying on the side of a street in Isla Vista. Honestly, I didn't know that there are some minds of brilliance residing within this Center of Purposelessness. I wonder if someone will ever speak up to owning this tragic, yet beautiful, and very simple poem.
"This poem cost me eight dollars and sixty nine cents of inedible Mexican food. I am 18."
why do i eat?
why do i consume?
take laxatives
until i puke?
there is no one
right beside me
to set aside
all'o my worries
gimme-the illusion
that i'm beautiful
and-in my disgust
make myself full
of all the food
that was already
---inedible
you eat alone
you die alone
you eat alone
you die alone
why do women
self-destruct
and all the men
tend to explode?
alone at night
i yell and cry
in hope one day
you're by my side
for all you are
a healthy to-do
instead of destroying
i'd rather my mind
---consume you
why do i drink?
why do i consume?
all the six packs
until i resume
to shed my rage
punch holes in the wall
Shriek-at Shorty in the corner
with pool stick and ball
there is no one
right beside me
to set aside
all'o my worries
gimme illusion
that i'm brave and strong
and in my disgust
the bar i've belong
of all the liquors
already made
---my senses gone
you drink alone
you die alone
you drink alone
you die alone
why do women
self-destruct
and all the men
tend to explode?
alone at night
i yell and cry
in hope one day
you're by my side
for all you are
a healthy to-do
instead of destroying
i'd rather my mind
---consume you
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
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1 comment:
Found poems. Amazing. The story within the story within the story. I've had my writing students write something and then throw it away and not tell anybody, but this is a much better thing to do: leave it someplace another is sure to find it---tacked up at a laundry mat bulleting board; under a car windshield wiper; in a supermarket shopping cart; between books on a public library shelf; a coffee shop in between copies of freebie newspapers, completely anonymous, of course.
These words were written in apparent anguish, expressed under the stress of duress. I hope the person sees that you've taken the time to make it something more than it might otherwise have been, like holding a small pebble against the sky to make it larger, confer a more essential meaning to it.
And I had to laugh at IV being the Center of Purposelessness. Sometimes such places are exactly the place to be.
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