twelfth entry

Next Feast: Sunday, June 5, 5-7 p.m. 85 MacDougal St. between Bleecker and Houston; 212-673-8184. The unspeakably delicious readers are Richard Allen, Kirsten Andersen, Michael Broder, Steve Roberts, Jason Schneiderman, and Maureen Thorson.


in case you didn't notice, dear reader, my name is on that list. i shall be reading there if i can find it.

Here's my poem:

I HAVE TROUBLE SPELLING RHYTHM

Trouble as an arching concept defining bad luck as my modus operandi.
As a child I had a very difficult time saying ‘literally.’
A child is told which is his hand and which hand is not his.
Child is a word I use now that I didn’t use when I was a child.
Is not the word you misuse as valid as the word you use correctly?
Not speaking was one of my hobbies, but now speaking is.
Speaking, controlled by the hippocampus(?) keeps us one leg above the primates.
Controlled by humans, the primates’ language is a poetry in exile.
By the monkey bars, I laughed at my best friend because he couldn’t lisp out my name.
The word rhythm has two H’s, but the Y and the T are hard to place.
‘Word of the Moment’ is a phrase or a title of a daydreamed game show.
‘of the moment’ would be literal, you would have mere seconds to guess the secret word.
The host would have a hair helmet and the co-hostess would wear blue-sequined gowns.
Host a message board and see how many Americans wave ignorance like a semaphore flag.
A through Z, all twenty six letters are necessary in the English language except C.
Through my 25 years I’ve found words, wearing them like a favorite rumpled coat.
My coat actually is rumpled, and cheap. Not like the Word Coat that I was describing.
Coats made of wool are best because they remind your skin that it is being covered.
Made by ape-like sweatshoppers whose language has devolved into defeated mumblings.
By and large a sweatshoppers’ day and night are defined by monotonous rhythm.