Thursday, March 24, 2005

Brown-bag Poetry (3/24)


new habits
(like new callouses)
hurt like hell
at first. they resist
being pressed, and
complain in nervy voices,
pleading to be left alone.
(of course, this isn't really
the new thing speaking--
it's the old flesh, playing
puppeteer, trying to
recover from being
challenged, to keep from
being changed.)


i listened to the radio as i made dinner.
("tell me what it takes to let you go.")
and though i was exhausted from the day
and from the self-punishment administered
under the auspices of "health",
i still found myself bobbing and weaving,
swaying with burning muscles and tired bones
to the seduction of rhythm and melody.
("you make me wanna shoop, shoop eh doop.")
these are the things a single man can
get away with, in the privacy of his castle:
silliness without self-consciousness, enjoyment
without restraint, and blessed freedom
from the tyranny of being "cool."
("you might as well be walking on the sun.")
I suppose married men may have such liberties,
though i doubt it. I'd wager a husband must work
twice as hard to keep his adoring bride's respect,
unless she's the rare and special kind of woman
who looks on such things without ridicule.
("it's been one week since you looked at me.")
i stood in my kitchen, stirring, swaying, singing,
and, for that single moment, enjoying bachelorhood.


is chocolate ice cream healthy?
the answer seems to be
counter-intuitive. after all, we are often
lectured on the value of calcium,
and the vast benefits of dairy products;
cocoa is of course a natural substance,
taken from plants, and should count as one
of the required five vegetables;
sugar is used for energy, necessary for life;
salt is important in small amounts;
and ice, being water, is vital to proper
nutrition. is chocolate ice cream healthy?
indeed so--i don't understand why
it would be otherwise.


(an unfocused response to "The Final Cut")

if i knew that other eyes
would view my life,
see my lies, and record my
shameful deeds, it
would change the way
i conduct myself, the way
i interact with others.
(at least, i would assume so,
though up to this point,
it hasn't made a difference.)

of course, one could argue that
when this obsvervation happens,
Heisenburg leans forward, and
the surface of the water stirs,
as it did when the world was
without form and void.

the Cutter sits in His booth,
deleting my transgressions,
splicing scenes and creating
meaning from my chaos.
the work of the editor is one of redemption.
but redemption always comes
at a price, for the Cutter must
bear witness to every foul deed,
in order to expunge it.

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