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Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Poem about My Handwriting

Pent-up manship. One-upped on internet
evangelists. Submitting curves and lines,
define your i’s with strokes that imply
even pressure, even blots won’t remain
blots for long.

Exert control!
o’s too round and you risk deflating
t’s too tall and fall replacing
b’s without backhanded regression
into clean, free, space.

Clean, free, space to contain the wicked
expressions of my lust and hate, church and
state. Swirled disguised maintained angles
so pretty and unpredictable they just fall
right into place.

I look at the ugly scrawl
scrawled on my desk-neighbor’s loose-leaf
thinking I have her beat but she raises her
hand and asks the doctor to repeat the
third-to-last thing he said and script
completely lost its potency that day for me.

3 footnotes:

Anonymous said...

1. Our y's are similar.
2. Read aloud, much more fun...imagined slam poetry.
3. Pent-up manship. The title is Handwriting (but in the title you claim it my) but
Pent-up manship has gender (and you claim it your). Cool.

Anonymous said...

dis some def poetry jam shit.

Kelley said...

One of the overlooked merits of English is its lack of fluidity. I contend that while unilaterally-derived romance languages project a certain desirable flow, the etymological collage that is English necessitates pause, relief. Rhythm supplies the direction that trembles at variety.