Sunday, June 14, 2009

Digger digger digger dig

I need a powerful metaphor. I seek a powerful
Metaphor. We go in search of a powerful metaphor.
At the centre of this poem is a powerful metaphor.
This poem is engined by a POWERFUL metaphor.

It’s not on the surface, between the tall stalks
That tricked the lawnmower. No. It hides because
We must dig for it. Or I must dig and you must watch.
Because it has to be like digging, yes, yes, shut up.

Or let’s say it’s like mining on a gaseous planet.
The stripy one with the storm on the surface. Jupiter.
Try drilling for diamonds on that one, because you can’t.
Why, the drill would fall right out of your hands and disappear.

Like the time you saw that movie again, and it was
No masterpiece, not the second time you saw it.
& that’s why you keep your iPod on shuffle.
& that’s why you press the skip button through your jeans.

But fuck me if there wasn’t a time when the colours were
Like BANG and every other song made you fall in and out of love
like a drunk man staggering down the street. But now, sadly,
You’re old, plus you’re getting a little fat (It’s true).

They say humans made poetry before they made prose.
So what? Once in awhile you’ll stumble over some old track
And put it on repeat until it loses its flavour. Are you going to
Help me with the digging or are you going to just stand there?

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