Today's genre is angry-poetry-slam-pseudo-intellectual-yuppie-rambling. As you read it, imagine that you are in a horribly stereotyped, smoky coffee house watching a young white dude trying to act all cool by reciting "improvised" poetry in front of an apathetic audience that all look like clones of the guy at the mic. Also, there are bongo drums playing arhythmically in the background. Random words are to be shouted.
Morning (Mourning) of My Way
by Schuyler
MOVE!
I SCREAM into the stale air at the
slow, FAT tourists that will not
GET OUT OF MY WAY
I cannot understand THE processes of their
slow, fat BRAINS as they perch
So DELICATELY up the moving stairs
The LEFT SIDE of the moving stairs
GET OUT OF MY WAY!
I will not simmer in OBSEQUIOUSNESS
While OTHERS stomp on my very WILL to live.
It burns me up INSIDE the hollow shell that used TO be my heart
Before she crushed it between her LONG, LONG fingers.
GET OUT OF MY WAY!
I do not want to get LOST in remonstrances
Of things about WHICH I do not WISH to think at all.
WHY, WHY, WHY did she do that and do they do that
I want to KNOW my brain shrieks as I come dangerously close to tears.
GET OUT OF MY WAY!
I holler at ALL of you
All of you that HOLD me back and HOLD me down
I AM going somewhere
I AM going somewhere incredible
I AM a driver
I AM a winner
Things are going to Change, I can feel it.
GET OUT OF MY WAY!
1 comment:
Wow. You've only been in D.C. how long? You're an official native at this point, methinks.
(though I feel the same way on a daily basis. Who am I kidding.)
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