Isaac Bonewits, Scott Cunningham, Eminem and me,
all born in the same general vicinity:
the suburbs of Detroit, ’round Royal Oak;
which of the four of us is the bigger joke?
28 FEB 2003
Isaac Bonewits, Scott Cunningham, Eminem and me,
all born in the same general vicinity:
the suburbs of Detroit, ’round Royal Oak;
which of the four of us is the bigger joke?
28 FEB 2003
Posted in Poems
Tagged coincidence, daily poems, Detroit, Isaac Bonewits, Marshall Mathers, Royal Oak, Scott Cunningham, Ten Mile
In the halls the people come and go,
wishing I were Michelangelo;
but things are not always as perfect
as his David would lead you to believe.
Some days, after too much cheap wine
and dreadful harp Music
even the most beautiful man
can be a real asshole;
and art is artificial, it is not real life…
it is a representation of reality
based solely upon the interpretation
of the artist;
it probably has nothing to do with you
(does that offend you?)
Just like yours, sometimes,
the artist’s world can be a me-o-centric place;
even the most universal of messengers
can take a private call now and then,
turn their back on the masses
and say
“Heal yourselves.”
28 FEB 2003
I guess you know that you are getting old
when the quieter the time, the better,
and it’s not quite as much fun being bold;
you’d rather wake quietly to let her
sleep in for a change. To just be relaxed:
no grumpy before-school lectures to give,
no running out late for things the child lacks,
no last minute change of plans – we can live
as if we are the only two on earth,
if we choose. We do not need to leave town,
because our house has everything we need.
These rare times are precious, and can be worth
even weeks of “I need this” and runaround.
Child gone for the weekend? Fun guaranteed.
28 FEB 2003