Between paternal fascism and maternal quiescence I had my own peaces to negotiate. I wanted to hear the big chords, the big drums, the big horns. Rock in a frame marked "real." singing truth to power, That's what everyone was going to do, and where I wanted to go. I was disappointed that I wasn't allowed. bitter power trips borne of disappointment the thoughts of death and the desire in ways so foul, it tattooed us all. And even still I avoided placing those artists on a pedestal, At the theater — the velvet place we get glow sticks with our programs. date night for those burnished elders. with our Pringles and our peppermints, The night wasn't about kitsch for me. There's a smallish riot going on The production is low-key. The set is too dark, After all the years of not going, it looks like I've made it. you cannot say I didn't live If you're lucky, and negotiate your peaces, it all comes around.
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. source - https://www.npr.org/sections/therecord/2013/02/21/172506252/after-30-years-i-finally-went-to-a-barry-manilow-concert