by doug draime

                       sometimes it points to the sky
                       of blue pointing like a bird
                       dog.  sometimes it buries itself
                       deep in the nothingness
                       of political thinking.  sometimes
                       it screams through the black
                       black lies once told by you
                       and I.  sometimes it just sits
                       there like J.Edgar Hoover
                       with a cheap tape recorder
                       plotting your death.  sometimes
                       it spends years adding up numbers
                       in an attempt to round off
                       infinity.  sometimes it hides
                       in the couch with change
                       from 100’s of pockets.
                       sometimes it burns and burns
                       the trees we can’t see the
                       forest for.  sometimes
                       it runs like a out of control
                       driver less locomotive down a
                       steep mountain pass.
                       sometimes it stands trendy poets
                       up against the wall of
                       timeless literature and shoots them.
                       sometimes it lances boils on the
                       butts of opossums.  sometimes it checks
                       into motels under the names of
                       Curly, Moe and Larry.  sometimes it
                       loves beauty for the right reasons.
                       sometimes it can name every
                       painting in the Chicago Art Museum
                       blindfolded.  sometimes it is impossible
                       to decode with extra sensory perception
                       or any other kind of perception.
                       sometimes it breaks your heart.  sometimes
                       it plans wars on planets in
                       distant galaxies.  sometimes it
                       whittles exquisite little angels
                       out of cherry wood.  sometimes it stands on
                       its head and imitates Erica Jong.
                       sometimes it captures butterflies
                       then sets them free in the Pope’s
                       bedroom.  sometimes it goes into
                       tirades over the absurdity of
                       collective consciousness.  sometimes it
                       teaches law students at Harvard how to make
                       tiny gas chambers.  sometimes it stumbles around
                       in Dante’s Inferno selling copies of
                       Milton’s Paradise Lost.  sometimes it poses
                       as P.T. Barnum standing behind
                       a billboard trying to explain the difference
                       between propaganda and advertising.
                       sometimes it wishes on a star.  sometimes
                       it pretends to be a tug boat on the
                       Mississippi in 1859.  sometimes it’s
                       a relief.  sometimes it surfaces
                       in London claiming it never knew
                       the gun was loaded.  sometimes it
                       whirls like a ballet
                       dancer in the middle of
                       a completely empty Times
                       Square.  sometimes it simply
                       is not there regardless of what
                       blind faith may say.  sometimes
                       it counts all the hairs on your
                       head then splits them.  sometimes
                       it can be caught adjusting the
                       color control on the telescope at
                       the Griffith Observatory
                       sometimes it
                       peters out before you do.  sometimes
                       it gets solar activity
                       to disrupt tv transmissions.  sometimes
                       it resembles a dove
                       flying above.  sometimes it shoots out
                       street lights.
                       sometimes it never never stands
                       in a certain place overlooking
                       the Hudson river.  sometimes it
                       has no remorse.  sometimes it shines!
                       sometimes it rolls around in history.
                       sometimes it’s as lonely as a
                       grave.  sometimes it sky drives in
                       the Grand Canyon.  sometimes it
                       can be heard giving a testimony on true
                       love at the Taj Mahal.  sometimes it takes
                       pictures of fat men eating.  sometimes
                       it fastens itself on the
                       back of poor judgment.  sometimes it holds to
                       truths that are self evident.  sometimes it wanders
                       around in the wilderness for 40 years missing
                       the way out repeatedly.  sometimes it’s out of
                       focus.  sometimes it has no reason
                       for being. sometimes it foams at the
                       mouth then spits up into oblivion.  sometimes
                       it hammers invisible nails into
                       smog,  sometimes it simply is!  sometimes it
                       sets a course for Easter Island.  sometimes
                       it walks the floors at Graceland.  sometimes
                       it has a way of fooling the wisest of men.
                       sometimes it leaks information to
                       expired newspapers.  sometimes it
                       has no way of coping.  sometimes it
                       circles the covered wagons.  sometimes it knows no
                       limits.  sometimes it climbs mountains
                       dressed in a tuxedo.  sometimes it
                       is released from bondage.  sometimes it is
                       functional for a few minutes.
                       sometimes it divides nations,
                       sometimes it
                       shimmers on the moonlit water.  sometimes it runs a
                       race with stolen shoes.  sometimes it pauses
                       for applause.  sometimes it deals cards
                       from the bottom of the deck.  sometimes it alters
                       events for diabolical purposes.  sometimes it is
                       your friend.  sometimes it jumps like a
                       jack rabbit into the red moon. sometimes it moves
                       around the bases like a 90 year old Babe Ruth.

0 thoughts on “sometimes

  1. I M A G I N A T I O N ! ! ! That’s what ‘it’ was for me. Man, this poem takes the cake from Marie Antoinette’s mouth! Ever visited her neck of the woods? A lot of energy/thought went into this piece. Wasn’t the Chicago Art Museum where Ferris & friends went? “sometimes it stands trendy poets up against the wall of timeless literature and shoots them. sometimes it lances boils on the butts of opossums.”…those are just a few of my favorite lines in this. Not to mention the prefix ‘some’ is one of my favorites. The poem was very ‘wide’ and all-encompassing stretching looking afar near under underwear everywhere being expanded in a whole gamut that is life in a nutshell. “sometimes it stumbles around in Dante’s Inferno selling copies of Milton’s Paradise Lost.” …and sometimes it dazzles super-ganglia ghetto that is our Haggard and Halloo like a new moon roman candle showdown in the nude. S P O T L I G H T ! ! !

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