Bite Me with Your Sting of Poetry
Can poetry build a better mousetrap?
“The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.”
— Charles Bukowski
I know the path towards being human is eclectic,
though paved at times it may swerve
cruise or crash,
detoured,
roadblocked,
shrouded or clouded,
polished, shellacked,
ignored, vaulted, catapulted.
Bite me with your poetry
let me feel its bitter velvet squeeze
around my throat,
its shrapnel quietly strangling my vocal cords
breaking silence
into echoes of words
inspired by the darkness
of your inferno
that bleeds from memories
trapped in shades and shards,
tumbling from the soul
towards clarity.
I question time and space,
right and wrong,
fifty shades of blue and grey
and I am still a work in progress
my own lab experiment,
both cynical and naive
clinical and anecdotal
aesthetic, analgesic and pragmatic.
I know the path to hell
well lined with the fury
of ashes and brimstone
as I cross the pavement
forever chasing happiness
prosperity
health
and peace of mind
in my own creative construct.
Have you built a better mousetrap?
Show me your poetry
pretty or otherwise
and I will melt like butter into your world,
an existence
I struggle
to alternately escape
or embrace,
swinging from ancient oaks
crimson clover and eternal moonlit stars,
into galaxies of ironies,
subtleties,
and metaphoric, meteoric epiphanies
yet uncarved,
unchartered,
or mystically unspoken.
Bite me with your sting of poetry
so that I may feel alive.
Thanks to Franco Amati, editor of Scuzzbucket publication for such a unique space to create, read and write on Medium.
© Connie Song 2022. All Rights Reserved.
