Monday, October 7, 2013

"Howl" Response Poem


I
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by the alienated light cast in the crimson blood of unfed elation,

they fought hard, dirty, in the darkest of all hours, watching in their bright lit eyes until the impending slimy mass of their own destruction overtook them,

and every footstep passing in unequal assumption alters left to right, avoiding all others for why should they stop to understand and read the other’s stories     ?

large, hanging heads downturned, seeking selfish sorrows perceived into existence, as the umbrellas sway in silent dissatisfaction,

that is where they find them, they were never there until secret minds decided nothing was more wonderful and galvanizing than a metaphorical slap to the face,

and yet the calls—the calls and begging of those minds that had wanted such deep, cutting thorns in the first place wailed because of what they never realized

they went to the bridge once for a dare—who would throw the dog over first     ? And then soon after, who would throw themselves over     ?

someone came too late, and their wrists were covered with shackles of cat bites and scratches—or were they     ?

and then in the rat-filled nighttime street, a girl came from the show, and soon after came the wolf whistles under the flickering street lamps—then the scream

ghosts gliding along the streets, honking, laughing, yelling, cursing, wandering, meandering, lost—what meaning could there ever be to this putrid existence.


II
I want to run and never hide, for why should I follow in the distorted sand tracks of this depressed, sulking, kvetching humanity     ?

to scrape up all the dried blood from my bone and rip at the marrow with my teeth as my useless creating hand is cast away on the floor

but even putrid existence will not help now, will it, as it acts repulsed at my very being every turn     ?

scrape up my words, I will carry on without puking out the last of my blood clot lies and I will slip away then, through the meaningful yet meaningless crowd of minds and spirits

I want to rip out their eyes, for they could never care, and never should for they do not understand whatever meaning they chose not to see in the first place

to throw out the bomb projection on the side of the old concrete building to make them wonder why ancestors wasted their lives on the past wars for their sake

to scream louder than a thousand gunshots what keeps the miserable people living,

to shake their shoulders violently and tell them they are beautiful,

to crush every jaded brain that spilt out any sort of self-inflicted misery,

no, let me take away their razor blades and broken wrists and scream at them with blood-filled rivers running from the ice defrosting in my eyes,

and let me pull them off the wind-swept bridges and punch them to the ground until their faces become unclouded of their selfish miseries.



III
Never watch your step, yet never slip, and see yourself fearful yet fearless in the eyes of the ones who have sacrificed their nothing and everything,

and every fear you gain enough to slip and tumble down, I will catch you far and wide

I will take your hand if that building is too high up and you are blinded with the dark tendrils of pain you internally harvested all those years you have lived

I will take your hand if that universal meaning you have been groping for in your dark world never finds you

I will take your hand if the infernal pit is too deep and chock-full of so many coils of metal vines that grew with every good thing you took for granted

I will take your hand, even after punching you in the face with my mind a thousand times for mentally or physically injuring your beautiful being

I will take your hand and tell you that there is nothing more meaningful than wondering, even within a seemingly meaningless existence,

And that the things that do not make sense, which you have rejected for so long, are the things that have made you most full of nutritious sunshine and bright-eyed laughter
And yet we have taken those confusing things as if they were unimportant to our frail beings

I want to take your hand and tell you,

I want nothing to make sense, as I would never dare to fear wonder.

1 comment:

  1. Oh goly! That poem was deep and I felt like I was walking around corridors that were eroded in blood stains. But once it got to the end, I felt the gentle touch of a Goddess. t was warm and light like a sun-filled feather. However, I still felt black poison injected into my palm from what was said before. In general, it was amazing! :)

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