I want to be a great poet! I want to storm the temples of Hafiz, Whitman, Sappho, and Hughes. Make me a badlands mystic, a prairie Shakespeare--better yet an iconoclast bard for now/today. Does wanting cheapen being? I'm afraid I don't know enough words... What does "locus of control" mean? "Disclosure reciprocity?" "Self-efficacy?" Poets must know these common phrases!
But since I can't be intellectual, I'd like to write some love songs. My old songs are jaded. I know I can do better. Did I tell you that I actually saw my Soul nine days ago in a deep cave in the central Washington Cascades? My actual Soul! It filled my rib cage with cosmo-electric libidinal orgone energy. To glimpse my Life Force was a great, precious moment. I can't be satisfied to ever write "Please, Louise" again (yet I do!). e.e. cummings might settle for "lower case blues," but has he seen his SOUL? Well, probably.
I'll sleep on it.
3 comments:
callipygian... use that in your love song.
Are you and Camo going to reunite the dream team?
Kentucky Kid
Camo runs a massage clinic in Nashville now--I only wish I could get him back on Sandwagon.
Post a Comment