8 Second Ballad
8 Second Ballad
by rick coonrod
I don’t know
what to write about. I have
no time to sit.
My life is
chaos, falling
down.
So fuck
off this
is it.
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chaos is a beautiful thing. some of us can’t be tamed.
i feel well-acquainted with the voice this was read to me in. i hear a lot of snarls in the gutteral throat and knots in this guys hair. hope he feels better.
This poem–plus the art–reminds me a lot of Stephen Elliott.
i’ve written things like this before but i never send them out or publish them. i like how it reads and may reconsider now. it’s hard to think of this as poetry, but that has hardly ever mattered to me.
i call the blase poems ‘fuck it whatever’ poems. a lot of times it’s evidence that there’s something growing stronger inside, but the author isn’t even paying attention to its hunger because he or she can’t grasp a levelheadedness. maybe i’m reading into this too much…but i like poems like this in the same vein i like ‘comfortably numb’.
The title, “8 Second Ballad,” is what really makes this poem work for me. Sometimes I search on names to find what else a writer has written, and I came across a piece called “Scribbling” by Rick Coonrod. These two pieces work pretty well together.