Catch Some Wide Eye

Pop Melodies and Bow Ties


I. oh, i, Oh….i
have neglected to exercise my futility muscle this morning
so i’m gonna press the buttons on my cardboard box.
oh, yeah.
gonna press these buttons on my cardboard box
and hope to gosh it works. oh gosh.

stop. put it in reverse,
and melt it down.
sorry little poem,
i know you’re not quite finished
not quite through with being born and all
in fact, i’m still sitting here typing you.
the truth is, i don’t love you.
i don’t want you.
you don’t please me
or satisfy my needs.
you disgust me.
i set forth with a grandiose idea,
a musical text,
a shiny allegory
and all i got was you.
you’re such a disappointment.
i could be something big, you know?
something they’d remember in history books
some big shot composer hiding poems in her den
something to make the kids memorize-
the poor little fools would be pouring over my words
trying to discern my favorite color
and whether or not i liked apples.
but no. instead i’m stuck here in a closet… with you.
i’m dirt poor and sellout cheap.
what’s worse, is i get so friggen distracted
that half the times i don’t even know what i’m talking about.
are you still listening?
look me in the eyes when i’m talking to you!

excellent, now where was i?
what?
no, i’m not in north dakota, you idiot.
i’m not following this whole stream of consciousness thing, either.
alright, some people may think in streams
but i think in oceans.
i can’t think one bitty thought at a time
in a nice neat little consecutive line.
i think in cloudbursts. (oceans) tangarines?
everything is layered;
my consciousness is an ecosystem with the upper parts
and the voices woven inbetween
my fifteen thousand songs/pieces
all going at once like satan’s cabaret symphony
and there are rhythms underneath tying it all together
with images constantly flashing
in a supernaturally psychedelic kaleidoscope
with no continuity other than free-flow.
in this creative tangle you expect me to extract a single line?
little poem, you are such a failure;
i wish you could go back from whence you came-
i am sure you will bring me nothing but shame
but sorrow is the name of an artist’s game
and i’m no artist, but i play it all the same.
now for step 2: go insane.

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