Personal Preferences And A Lack Of Permanence

I must say I much prefer
My poetry spoken
Reading it is nothing
Compared to the author
Emphasizing their syllables
Pausing, punching, stalling
When and where
The words fall from them
Their excitement
Hands at sides
Or pantomiming
Swaying heads
Shoulders caved or braced
The poet is in the piece
Where they giggle
The words they struggle for
The quintessence
Of every mistake they make
Mussing the word order
On that one line
I myself fuck up the same way
In the idle recitation of my day to day
The closeness
The intimacy
Of seeing someone’s insides
Spilling out all over the dock
Like that fucking Kintner boy’s didn’t
I reread the poetry I’ve seen performed
It’s just a different way
My way
To love language
Like my unconventional obsession
With Steve Buscemi’s perfect everything

I read this publicly recently, and finally decided I liked it. So I’m posting it. So there.


About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook:
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