Using words to eviscerate has a certain satisfaction
I always wanted to be the most clever person in the room
Sometimes the only way to do that is to cut off the feet of those around me so I look taller
Or spend more time alone.

The satisfaction fades
The chuckles in the dark grow dim with distance
The memory of how it felt to be on top deflates
with all the grace of a forgotten helium balloon.

A wit that cuts
leaves me in pieces
Without any notion of how it felt to be whole.
Screaming in defiance,
I’m not ruined, I’m reinvented!
Much the way the rain reinvents a book
Bloated and saturated with self-importance
Unable to easily communicate anything resembling resonance.

I could argue that it is the job of poetry,
of art in general,
to be caustic in application
to decorticate in cenobitic style
to strip back and reassess
the belief systems which tie us down
hold us back
keep us confused as to the difference between
cemented
and grounded.

But sometimes it’s just fun to be the bad guy.

 

 

Today’s song is Femme Fatale by the Velvet Underground and Nico