the taut-tight generation
excuse me if it seems new posts are scarce, I’m in the midst of my poetic novella (I feel pretentious for writing that). hype it up as much as you can. the poem below may or may not be included.
reading bret easton ellis makes me want to
coin my own ‘lost generation’
but my peers insist that they know perfectly well
who they are & where they are
& what they’re ‘working for’
devolution seems eminent
we are hunter-gatherers of the modern capitalist mesopotamia
social darwinism is barbarism
& by no means grounds for an art movement
unless you like crafts
then you have even deeper problems…
poetry is the only semi-tangible imaginary ‘trend’
poetry includes all in its broad-teethed pretension
jaws like a ribcage
it encompasses the heart & those
stagnant cerebellum concoctions
can I drink your magic
& grow gills
& have my own creative metamorphosis?
can I ‘transcend’? or
can I grow & shrink in these shit-stained cities…
wind-up toys never know where they’re headed
remote control cars are like 21st century puppets
remote control people seem like they’d be cool
to fight our wars
files our taxes
& watch ‘the notebook’ with our girlfriends
ever-present is the need for
tight glutes/tight butt/tight stomach/
plastic bag tied tightly to the face of individual thought:
poetry has sharpened my teeth enough for me to escape
but I have no file to help you out
