in poetry today
between the academics and
the outlaws.
as it stands,
the academics
think they hold it all.
they hold the contracts,
the fellowships,
and the grants.
if they had their way,
they’d drag us in the street
and put a bullet
through our heads.
Time magazine
would even
have the film.
but it doesn’t
matter.
what do i have to do
to prove
my point?
sit down
in the middle of the street
and set myself
on fire?
nah!
i don’t care enough
to do the deed.
why should i,
when we’ve already won?
we own the streets.
we own the hills.
we own
the alleys
and the yards.
when i tell it like it is
and they don’t agree with me
they call me
a faker,
a liar,
and a fool.
when i tell it like it is
and i’m on their side
i’m a genius,
a giant,
a diamond in the rough.
but it doesn’t matter.
either way
i’m going to tell it like it is.
it’s really simple,
isn’t it?
i’ve got no choice.
if i didn’t,
i’d be just like them.
wouldn’t i?
i make her a
sandwich
with ham and
lettuce.
adding a hardboiled egg
to the plate,
i give it to her
while she reads the paper in bed.
then,
i go downstairs and read
while my dog
snores quietly
in the sun.
some days are like this.
quiet.
what it all comes down to
is consistency.
that’s the key.
it doesn’t matter
what you’re talking about…
training a dog…
hitting a fastball…
writing a book…
painting a picture.
or,
just making a ham sandwich.
the only thing
that matters
is doing it over and over again.
before you know it,
you get better at it.
then, pretty soon
you start to get good.
a few lucky ones
even get great.
and in the eyes of the world
the great
are always
lucky.
some dumb shit
the other day
in protest of the war
tried to take a page
from history.
he got a can of gasoline,
sat down in the street
and set himself on fire.
but, like i said,
he was dumb
and didn’t know the ropes.
he didn’t
think it through
and never called the press.
so, there wasn’t
any film.
no cameras
took it down.
i guess he thought
he’d be a hero,
a symbol
or something…
they never even found
his wallet
and all he was
was toast.
