ME.

It’s funny.

I’ve written something
about all of you, and
sometimes
I painted you in an unflattering hue, while
other times I grasped reality
and made you better.

But,
alone with these ink and lipstick-stained letters, is
it too much to want someone make 
me 
live forever?

Inscribe my essence
on quintessential endeavors, and
be sure to cleverly
reconstruct
the excess.

I’ve had so many naked chests
as headrests,
but
goddamn it baby,
lately I’m prime-grade
Americana
dispossessed of nostalgic
prima-donas;
a work
of postmodernism
enshrouded
in verdant
marijuana; and

I need a poem about me
to make it through the
darkness,

now that she’s gone,
and we only hearken
reality
after the surreality
has sunk its talons

into synesthetic
battalions,

and the battles
they never could have

won.

Willie Watt
4.13.17 

 

Advertisements

Ring the Call Button

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s