Walt Whitman Fantasy
Six o’clock
January darkness
Rainclouds pressed
against the face of the earth
like a razor
I’m sitting in my room trying to remember
how to write a poem
Think about putting on some ambient music
to push me out into the deep end
of my mind
But really, has that ever worked?
Maybe I should acquire some shrooms
But I don’t think that’s such a good idea
Shroom poet says some crazy shit
Think maybe I should give all my money
to the Lighthouse Mission
that would put me out to the edge
Probably not such a good idea neither
I just want to be like Walt Whitman
You know
in love with Everything!
Virginal Indian squaws
gay looking school boys
Christ-like deathbed union soldiers
sagely bearded frontiersmen
shitty American street corner vagrants
whales, spiders, cemetery grass
Everything!
Though if I ever met the man
I’d probably be scared as hell
or just disappointed
Because just like Jesus
no one could really ever be
like everything they said
Just like how I hope someday
some virulent young college-age
neo-hippie fanatic
will show up at a reading of mine
and be disappointed by me
To find I’m not that mountain lion
stalking about in my poems
Just the dial on your stereo
every day fine tuning a little this way
then a little that
trying to get the treble just right
Just the dial on the radio in your car
for a moment
Mahler’s 5th symphony
Adiagietto
A parousia of violins
and then once again nothing
except static
Matthew Brouwer is a performance poet, peer mentor, teaching artist, and organizational consultant residing in Bellingham, WA. (To listen to Matthew read the above poem click on Walt Whitman Fantasy)
Copyright © 2012 by Matthew Brouwer