i can confer from my dashboard period
my reasons myriad
and finishing for vanquishing
that all that has come and waited to leave after they got off
questions for those who bought off
and not for him who is set in period furniture
or those who learned in chairs of yore
-waited for the financial score
and reliance on dollars spewed across the floor
in a bloody mess
made quests for those with the best
or those with bags of 'cess
i confess, i am the one with less &
i hate to use dirty water to bless,
and that theres nothing thats mine
besides her who i try to impress
and I belong to noone less
than those who fill up my time
with silly rhymes in my head
or thoughts of books so often should be read
a blankness that should be fed
but instead, oh instead
i distill questions of who i was but am not
the world forgotten by the world forgot.
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2 comments:
So whose lunar deity are you addressing here? I assume that by not capitalizing your i's (except for line 16, "and I belong to...") you made an attempt to create your own? Or possibly the narrator is yourself as pagan god? Either way, this reads like a deity drunk off human obsessions ("period furniture," "financial score and reliance on dollars," "her who i try to impress..."). Said deity does not seem too happy about them. Perhaps human infatuation with material possession is to blame for your narrator’s lament of a world forgotten by itself?
Pretty vague stuff but rather intriguing nonetheless. I like that this poem leaves me with a “What the fuck?” feeling and although it’s erratically rhymey and a bit nonsensical (to me at least), I want to know more about this narrator, or god, and what the fuck it is about.
herb's the word
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