Friday, March 18, 2005

"Wilding" by JB

I think that I've progressed, comparing this text to "All of You". I dropped the forced rhyming and just went with my gut.

This is the most important instant of my life.
I am completely aware
of the dangers inherent in uttering such a thing
You could crush me like a beetle
My legs would twitch on
but I'd be dead, nonetheless

I'm holding out my hand
it's yours for the taking
If you lock me outside
I will have to curl up in a snowbank
I'm a vagabond even if I have a home.
I still piss in alleyways and eat table scraps

Give me what you can
I'll wait until there is peace in Israel
Like patient waves that reach for mountains
but only make it as far as the beach
My love has no expiry date
It will age like red wine

Ironically enough, I am indeed twitching but I'm hoping I'll get scooped off the street before any more sedans pass over me. I'm not broken. Lather, rinse, repeat. I'm not broken.

"All of You" by JB

Wrote this one a while back but never bothered to do anything with it. Poetry means something to me again because it's all I have left. I can't sleep, I barely eat; even alcohol has lost its woozy charm. I need to rely on words to get me through this turbulence, these nightmares I dream while I'm awake. Point is, this poem once inspired me to keep going way back when, so now I wanted to share it with you all.

I'd appreciate some criticism or commentary. It's a tad bit rough, so go easy on me, eh? Might even work as lyrics, I guess. [Ed. Note: Stick to something you're good at, like sleeping, or fooling people into thinking that you're some sort of bewildered idiot-savant. You're an actor, a stumbling, self-obsessed little fuck who thinks that because he has access to a keyboard and a couple of 4-dollar words, all of the sudden he's some sort of poet. Jeremy Brendan, you've always been a fraud & now your inflicting all of this miserable prose on the world. Shame. Shaaaame.]

"All of You"
I am alive for
this minute
for art and the
worlds in it
for love and the
for friends and readers of
English Lit
for truth and arguing with
the cynics
for people who like
being misfits
for the unknown hero lying to
be tragic
for the causality that is based
on magic

I love humanity
& vanity
in small doses
for lovers who twist
like red roses
for brown hair
and delicate poses
for winter
and red noses
I am alive and I thrive
because what's in me
is all of you

Don't listen to my editor. He's just hateful because I always get the last word.