August 3, 2004

Ode for Rimbaud

as if i were that guy in study hall
legs spread wide like elvis costello
smelling of cheap success and bawdy brawls
who spends his days forgetting how to shave

nothing more than a piss-off
in a school full of piss-offs

i can feel his radio already deny my station
like he's made a conscious decision
not to listen to the words
coming out of my throat
(but, from the stories i've heard
his antenna, when piqued, can grow!)

animals of yore would mate while running
but he would hold my hand and walk down the street?
while no one's ever serious at seventeen
it must be a grimace to sit ahead of me

the rules say silence, and so we sit stationary
at desks queued for propriety
i would hate to be his mr. superfluous
i could not bear to eat his jelly
if he refused to spread my toast

the guy grew up thinking
that the world revolves around him
but if he thinks his shtick's succeeding
i'm going supernova on him
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.