by Matt Ronquillo
Like using the same preposition
too much to describe everything.
Fuck wasting time.
haunts itself relentlessly
with a dark between the beams
that looms inward perpetually,
that already went and ran inside
and side-wound around
my well intentioned output
with prior behavior in tow.
Now I’m keeping that stealthy hate of mind
split-stored in two suitcases
which study the back of my head from the floor.
The frontal lobe is either dead
or resurrected by this foreign window I am facing;
a potential prism
to try again to change a single strolling
strand of light into a stronger diffraction splaying back.
0 thoughts on “Ran”
“Bidibidibidi…take me to your leader…i mean your 40 litre.”
This techno sci-fi space poem inculcates my dynamic CPU with the power to RAM thru the squalid-bum doldrums of my robot-human survival patterns in this questionably worthwhile battery-life.
Very well executed use of theme here permeating from alpha to omega–You are the next TimeLord, sir!
I really appreciated the similes at beginning of poem and the word-play later on: “stealthy hate of mind” from ‘healthy state of mind’–you borrow the ‘s’ from state and give it to healthy by taking away the ‘h’–you lyrical gangster and astronomically syntax-manical badass! hahaha!
Extrapolation of reason-for-being sentiment within the context of machine orientation rings true of this post-modernist poem program that not only runs–it ‘ran’.
Have fun in Spain! Call me if you need bail-money!
I’m just going to hitch a ride with quasimofo’s comment. Because my frontal lobe IS dead today.
I love this because it’s so trippy. I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but I think I like it.
There’s something creepy up in here, too.
Great poem man!
Thanks fellows. Glad it struck something with three of the best out here. Quasi you’re an absolute machine on the comment board. I’d buy a special edition print version of those alone.