for the kids (Day 29, 2016)

The 29th day of National Poetry Month.

for the kids

My poems are for the kids,
the ones who seem sweet but are really
rotten little motherfuckers
on the inside, the ones who
go to church and say please and
thank you and call every adult
Miss so-and-so or Mister whomever
but who swear like longshoremen
when the adults aren’t around,
the kids who know 37 different words
for breasts because they think
about titties as much as Eskimos 
think about snow.  Those kids
don’t like poetry
because to them poems are all 
blooming flowers and singing birds
or wrist-slashing emo bullshit.
No one has ever told them that 
poets get blunted on funny homegrown
and fuck doggystyle on dirty sheets
until they see the face of God and then
collapse back into reality, 
that they spill words on the page 
trying to recreate what it felt like
spilling their seed on that mattress
and that when it all goes well–
when the words string together
just the right fucking way
it feels almost as good as
that sweat-soaked trembling climax.
I want kids to read my poetry and say
Oh shit the way I did when I found
Charles Bukowski 
and I want them to 
write impure hymns,
desecrate the holy,
turn sacred cows into burger,
drag Emily Dickinsin out of her house
and take her to a strip club so
she can learn how to make it rain.
I want them to spray graffiti
on everything beautiful 
until art is as debased as life,
until our dreams and our fears mingle,
until no one would dare
call those kids innocent ever again.

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About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in NaPoWriMo, people, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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