Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Rant At 8 A.M.
I sat in the corner at AJ's Cafe,
With a biscuit on a shishkabob skewer, and a x-large coffee full of caffeine;
It spoke. It went:
Toil and trouble.
I'm your Alice, sugar.
I sat in the corner on a wooden bench at a wooden table,
And became a tree spirit.
My limbs suddenly grew the boardinghouse reach, and I rudely swiped shit from other tables,
Cracking blackberries like walnuts,
Delighting in the screams and inventive new curse words.
People stared but wouldn't approach me.
I sat in the corner at AJ's, writing a new poem--
The page began pale as a virgin bride, but I filled it up with bad notions, backtalk, bullshit and beauty so sharp the baristas wept.
Then it got up and flew,
Its still-white wings waving at me,
With my head of flapping crows, I use no product,
I am a feathered Medusa,
A vintage hat full of crafty crazy,
Let me set it on your head,
You will hear it sing.
Maybe it was mermaids, or somebody's ipod.
I sit at AJ's Cafe on a Wednesday morning--
I wait like judgement,
I idle away the hours,
I am just a girl,
I used to be sweet.
Pour out that lo-fat decaf bathwater, baby,
Come over here,
Live a little--