The teenyboppers come around and show poems about girls and break ups and thier banal family life; and they ask me, "What do you think?" I tell them: You do not write the poem. The wrecking balls do. They are swung from beautiful industrial cranes in perfect weather. They have the momentum of time, fleeing in such miniscule fractions that your own life is infinite and irrelevant at once. The wrecking balls are perfect and massive; and they are coming to smash every single one of your pretty little teeth to bits. The cracking sound is a poem. You cannot write a poem until you have been smashed to pieces a hundred times by the fists of God; and God has nothing to do with some girl you're trying to fuck. "That was harsh." they say. But; I have no patience for dabblers. The first rule is to ask if you must write, the second rule is to ask if you must reveal your scribblings. If you cannot, then don't waste your precious, precious time writing about wrecking balls that never touch those pretty pearls. -e. _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
