Saturday, January 7, 2012

junk-box-poem

last night i constructed a poem
just stuck it in the mud
and started hammering
cutting
and gluing
tonight i stand here with tools
‘cause it was made by a fool
and it will never stand long
as it sits
and the frame is as bad as it gets
withered boards
recycled form the junk pile
that grows moss by the shed in the back
old rusty nails and three screws
that i used
they don’t even match head or color
there isn’t much good here to use
when taking old to make new
so maybe I’ll say some weird shit here
and leave it all up to you
“do elephants dream of the jungle”
that was unfair
now i’m reaching for duct tape
to patch the shit together
what was once architecture
now looks more like art
the kind that looks like
intention
although it just fell apart
badly rendered
and renamed
artwork 'untitled' or some cliche'd notion 
with the framework
that shouldn’t be
mentioned
you know what got in the way
“i have nothing to say”
there are rules here
but the point is the sound
so out comes the gas
burn it down
i mean
fuck it
who cares
anyhow

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