permanent markers in my soup

permanent markers in my soup
by cerebella
do you too
have smallthinfragile obsessions shaped like
mink coats holding hands,
silently waving hello or goodbye?
mink coats worn by ladies with mullets?
mink coats worn by ladies who are really rather special?
everyone knows happiness
is far more powerful
in memories
than in the present
(except with you, never was i blue)
why is there bubblegum all over
the sidewalks
let’s count how much
let’s then play connect the dots
another black cat dodges
from under car to car,
and settles beneath the one
still damp from three storms ago
he’s the same cat i awake from wrestling with
at five am, during mouthaches
oh how lucky
oh how lucky he is to travel
if tranquility means sleep,
i could piss on your bare mattress
when i think sleeping means i
could be mistaken for dead

0 thoughts on “permanent markers in my soup

  1. ‘Permanent Markers in my Soup’ leaves a fancy fizzle on my tongue like first time pop rocks rolling down the final dropped snow on a virgin slope.
    poems with questions always get my interest cause they’re off the beaten path and more interactive. Nice personification with the minks. Also appreciated the ‘smallthinfragile’ combo change-up from the ordinary…visual is a part of conception even though, yes to the naysayers ‘poetry is meant to be verbal’. The mind’s ear is what i go for and there’s a sound quality that resonates with the individual reader more than an recitals to a crowd…the words whizz by earmuffs to often missing their mark.
    “everyone knows happiness is far more powerful in memories than in the present”-an aphoristic aside .. soliloquoy like the reader opening a secret closet and therein lies the author making out poetically with blow-up dolls.
    bubblegum and cat stanza fluid images … i am obsessed i confess. Fine balance thruout and streets-smart reality sandwich here. You don’t need to be a Prof. of English Dept. MFA low-residency and all that crap to write like this which i prefer one hundred million times over those academic tenure tidbits. Give me that punk, give me that ska, give me those Pistols, give me that Clash…
    I’m sleeping with out the p e a on the mattress… thanks to you…

  2. i came across this the other day:
    ‘Coney Island of the Mind’ by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
    Number 15
    Constantly risking absurdity and death whenever he [or she] performs above the heads of his audience
    the poet like an acrobat climbs on rime to a high wire of his own making and balancing on eyebeams above a sea of faces paces his way to the other side of day performing entrechats and sleight-of-foot tricks and other high theatrics and all without mistaking any thing for what it may not be
    For he’s the super realist who must perforce perceive taut truth before the taking of each stance or step in his supposed advance toward that still higher perch where Beauty stands and waits with gravity to start her death-defying leap
    And he a little charleychaplin man who may or may not catch her fair eternal form spreadeagled in the empty air of existence

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