So obviously I'm still on a Whitman kick. I'm going to play around with it for a bit. I like the action of it. I like the cadence. We'll see if it goes as long as his does. At any rate I'm gonna sit in his sandbox and shamelessly fail to write anything like him - while still managing to steal directly from him. . . but he is me and I am him and all is pickles, right? So really, by the transitive property, I'm stealing from pickles.
I hope this finds you well. I hope you are shining your light and living your dream.
One
I – 37 years old and gaining strength – carrying past dead rock stars, heroes, sinners, and saints – carrying past assassinated Americans and the promise of virgins – shaking my head at hippies, parents, boomers, bangers – my family all and more – these kids now a days
I emulating Uncle Walt – in some alternate and incredibly close version I am bearded – I am writing better words than these – I have decoded Pythagoras and poured him into my own ear – I have taken the essence of da vinci and kant
I meaning we and all and more when I say I – open to my surroundings like the ocean – must be coming to a high tide – wide like arms that say I love you – after so long arms crossed, enfolding my center in a barrier to keep the cold out – It cannot be one or the other – being is opposites, but also patterns – My trough is low and swollen – more full than the apex, but I do enjoy those moments of weightlessness as I fall
I have seen the best minds of my generation bicker – selfish and lonely – I have followed the pattern – flickering from the screen – the end is coming – except when it isn’t – we have all been brainwashed since birth – battered by ballads and bozos – Stockholm Syndrome a fashion house – prêt a porter jeans and shoes that are to die for – Excuse me a moment – I need to update my facebook
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