poetry, or...: how spontaneous can you be?
in real life? you're on a bus,
going home, and a stranger chats you
up with the lines:
there's a massive rave in an abandoned
warehouse a mile from here...
glow-sticks, ecstasy, techno techno,
goldfish square box dance moves to represent,
wanna come? hmm, a. or b.?
who the hell would write poetry thinking
of an armchair? i'd write poetry even
if i had to sit for a year in akimbo:
apparently turks drink coffee in that pose,
while samurai think about the buddha's
ego like a sword: thought the platitude of
a battlefield, hence their pride and peace
when slaughtering.