Sunday, May 28, 2006

There's a certain charm to really bad poetry. I don't know about you but I take the same vicious pleasure out of reading 10th grade poetry, with its ubiquitous themes of suicide, heartbreak and sexual trepidation, as I do watching Plan 9 From Outer Space. Campy movies and clumsy poetry both contain an innocence and a purity of vision that goes unseen by the artist. In many black and white Sci-fi movies of the 1950s as well as every teenage girl's doodle bedecked diary, the artist overextends him or herself in an attempt to convey the weight of their message. This struggle between talentless naivete and the uncontrollable urge to say something Great (with a captial "G") makes these works profoundly arresting. And it is for that reason, coupled with the bizarre need to reveal one's warts to the world, that I unveil one of my beloved failures. Enjoy.

Second Sight

Once I dreamed that I could see
My future life in front of me
Like watching a broadway show
I waited to see the direction my life would go
Constructing an intertwined plot from threads
I could see who I followed and who I lead
Watching friends and relatives leave
Noticing the lost souls I could have retrieved
The crucial knowledge which leaked from my brain
I saw it condense and fall like drops of rain
However the closeness I found
Was the one element in me bound
Somehow pushing away the fears
Drying the shed tears throughout the years
Another trip to this place in my mind, I will make
For this I am sure there will be no mistake


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