August 26, 2008

Poems

The hack of putting pen to paper
in order to park a record of existence
is a screwball comedy.
Its a nuisance and charms me.
A happy red blister on the thumb of my face.
I mean its an instance,
like saying I was here. Or more at
I am here. No probably less at that.

The crack of writing is always an act.
I write less words than I hues to.
Always the yellow road is less cold
with a bullet in my ink.
My poems are pretty good
when I have a nice transmission.
I drive through the crack like a distance,
scribbling little bruises into the median.
Tiny little ears of ink settle upon each tissue of flimflam
until theres a whole book of em.

I hack in order to park
on an instant. Sometimes even parallel,
which is great fun
and can often result in a haxident.

—Del Ray Cross
____
published in his book Lub Luffly (2006, Pressed Wafer)

Posted by dwaber at August 26, 2008 02:48 PM