Steve J. Moore

Metapoetic

In Writing on November 8, 2008 at 10:47 am

coffee-painting

A Confession to Pretension

I’ve been writing this in my head
while I drink black coffee and
unroll the etymology of a cigarette
with my tongue, wet from a soft kiss
my mistress muse gave me
after we made love in-between
the sheets of Shakespearean Sonnets

She, I will compare to the
coldest winter’s eve,
the kind that chills
a wind, inducing stupor

I’m not sure how to tell her
I use a smartphone to text my wife
or that I drive a decent car and have
zero facial hair.

I’ve never known someone who killed himself.

I have no gruffness,
no malice to stew in.
Maybe I should chain myself
to a type writer, but I don’t have one
and word processors are so much less
dramatic, so much less noisy.

What I want are reasons:
reasons to sew tulle into a sentence
in an effort to fish for compliments,
reasons to build flying buttresses
that are the pointed eyebrows
of a great face,
reasons to brew tea in a can of Mountain Dew
in order to save money on sugar,

reasons to sing along with—visit—Highway 61
for the first time again.

But I can’t give in.

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  1. This made me want to dance 🙂

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