Sensability

I don't know many people who wage wars on trivial daily assignments. Sometimes I wonder if it's necessary, but I can't imagine my life any other way. And maybe others frown or tsk, but I don't see any merits on their mantels that I could not have earned just as easily. Students beside me sacrifice their moments for a well paid respectable future. Me? I sacrifice for the only future I know; yours.

Maybe one day I'll finally understand. But maybe just maybe, one day everyone else will.

Time to start studying.

-Dann

Credits Ready to Roll

Two back to back all nighters, I've done worse as say those in the house I lived in at the end of last semester. Though maybe "lived" is the wrong word, I would hardly call that shell I was alive.

So what's the story? Classes are over, I'm underwhelmed despite the life defining work I have this next week. It's really down to the last week, I'm impressive like that. I should write movies, the climax would last 2 hours alone. Oh the suspense! And he's still not motivated, I can hardly take it. Then again, I can't imagine too much action. I don't like resolvable conflict.

Expect an influx of poetry as I begin work on my portfolio this next week. I need 9 pristine poems, just perfect enough to make the moon weep from the sheer beauty. I don't think that will be too hard though, will it?

We're almost through now.

-Dann

Insomniatic Poet

We're past the 48 hour mark now. My sleepless nights have left me shuddering quite literally. Today I read two poems. I'd like to think they were ready, finalized, but I'm not so sure, especially with the second one.

Song Bird

Everyone’s head nods
in rhythm and into slumber
with a thump that jars me awake.

My computer screen illuminates:
wrinkled bags hanging eyelids,
hair slopped side ways,
and the one strip of defiance
sticking straight up,
rigid, weird.

Eyes so burned, brown,
and crisp just to betray me;
slouching over tacking ticking
keys punched in to manifest.

But time slips off
darting indexes into tomorrow,
before today even concludes.

For it's light again, says the song bird,
with his two lonely notes; twit then tweet.

Twit then tweet, in stoic melody,
a twit for the sun, a tweet for the moon.
A rhythm so lonely and honest,
the song bird continues through the morning.
The song bird continues through the light

Apology

Mom,
I’m sorry for being a leaf,
I never took root.

And my rigid edges protected
just how I feel from you.

When I drooped
over the lonely branch,
when I shimmered,
sobbing the dew,
when I contemplated,
I’m sorry. I’m sorry
I was being a leaf.

When browning too early,
burning out in the sun,
when bending over fired grasses,
crunching as they browned me out,
when finding comforts under
the earthly elements you hid from me,
I was being a leaf.
I’m sorry.

Leaves forget roots, take flight,
drift from one town to another state
and for being a leaf,
for never taking root,
I’m sorry mom.
I’m sorry.

I need to finish this essay before 5 now. After that I submit myself to sweet, sweet, dreamless slumber.

-Dann

Song Bird

I wrote this in 5 minutes, I've decided that the amount of time I put into a poem has absolutely no correlation to how good it is.

Formed rhythms beat
one, two, three bathroom doors
open, doors close.
Toothbrushes click off the tile
falling into molded holsters.
Bladders empty, heads nod
in rhythm to sleep, and
with a thump, into slumber,

to jar me awake.
And the glow,
of the creaking laptop screen
as it opens to luminate:
wrinkled bags hanging eyelids,
hair slopped side ways,
and the one strip of defiant
sticking straight up,
rigid and weird.

Eyes so burned and brown
crisp like everything he is not;
slouching over tacking ticking
keys that manifest his stupor.

Time slips off darting indexes,
a fog of epiphanies dissolve
into tomorrow before
today even concluded.

For it's light again, says the song bird,
with his two lonely notes; twit then tweet.

Twit then tweet, in defiant melody,
a twit for the sun, a tweet for the moon.
a rhythm so lonely and honest,
the song bird continues through the morning.

-Dann

Notions

Sometimes I have to wonder whether I'm just full of shit or not. Maybe those defense mechanisms, the ones I'm so damned scared of, have usurped my very sense of reality. And don't get me started on reality. Fuck perceived notions of reality. Also, fuck philosophy 160 while we're at it.

My convoluted perceptions of myself are starting to piss me off, but ignoring everything I know, to be content, I just can't...

Maybe one day I can articulate this better.

-Dann