Monday, August 24, 2015

TALENT POEM/unpublished

For Eric Garner, LeBron James, Simone Weil

Little marshmallow ice cream cones outlined in boardwalk chalk
Pastel dots super-glued to scrolls like brail for the sugar blind
Caramel bullseyes with bellybuttons cold as ice cream
Wax jiggers of orange, pink and blue liquor. Bite me, lick me, drink me, suck me?
Bit O Honey  
Wax teeth, wax lips, waxy chocolate
Sweet, sadistic licorice whips 
Mary Janes are the good girls with bad teeth  
Gumdrops are stopping time
Chocolate coins in gold foil are rich kids slumming in candyland
Fireballs are threatening mass destruction
Swedish fish, Mr. Fortune Teller Miracle fish, curls up in your hand to talk about passion or jealousy or indifference
Bazooka bubble gum is a bad joke blown in the mouth
Stale candy cigarettes dusted in cocaine sit next to stale loose cigarettes in glass jars
In a penny candy store
None of it is good, but most of it is pretty good
When you’re poor
Like a bad penny
Eternally returning
To the valley that lies beyond shame
Which has its own vortex, its own dimension, its own in-crowd
Talent outs, talents ins
Force wins
Force: “that x that turns anybody who is subjected to it into a thing.” Simone Weil
Nothing but net
Nothing but that x factor
A state of grace
Or a fall from grace.
Did you see LeBron in his I Can’t Breathe t-shirt?
LeBron in his t-shirt jumping rope
A heart that keeps time like a Piaget
Perfect rhythm, perfect talent.
Meaning a unit of weight, or the scales used to measure that weight.
 “Then Father Zeus held out his sacred golden scales: in them he placed two fates of death that lays men low.” Simone Weil
A ball held aloft like a dream, then crushed through a net.
Have you ever smoked a loose cigarette?
Have you ever bought a stale cigarette?
A jar of slatterns with stale breath.
Please don’t shoot me
I love Loosie.
Have you ever killed someone?
Have you ever held a gun?
And then fired it off
Just for fun.
Are you a cop?
Or a boy dressed up like one?
Fake badge real gun.
Have you even been a cigarette on the run?
God’s gift, god’s wrath, god’s grace. God on fire.
A world where nothing is poor, and everything looks like gold, and you can paint your house any color you want to.
A world where all you have to do is play ball.
“A moderate use of force, which alone would enable man to escape being enmeshed in its machinery, would require superhuman virtue, which is as rare as dignity in weakness.”   Simone Weil
A world where the talented live, pure and stale.
A world just as jarred in as any other.
Just as cruel.
A world where the cops want selfies.
Where you’re too precious to kill.
“The soul castrates itself of aspiration.”
I can’t breathe
I can’t breathe
I can’t breathe
Have you ever judged someone with your hands?
Screaming fans
Have you ever been really good at something?
Good enough to get it
To get in
To get out.
To see the place where
All the little candies line up to shake your hand.
And get choked out for simply existing.