Blue Pulse
I was too wound up to sleep. On my way home I had found a sign that said
beer & wine for everyone. I think it was a bumpersticker. I was going through some
some shit. I was having an existential crisis about grad school, which is really a small
sort of thing I wouldn't want to burden you with. I didn't have any delusions about
the sign. I'd stopped being delusional about anything months back after being electrocuted
for an audience of pre-meds. It was something I'd volunteered for. It was a volunteer
electrocution, if you can believe that. It wasn't to cure me of anything or anything
like that, but they promised me money, which is a kind of cure, or at least I think so.
I was wide awake and clutching the sign to my chest. Let's say you are writing
a letter to a large bureaucratic office, the Office of Something & Something.
Let's say the lines of the letter keep being too long for the page you are writing on.
No matter what you do to your handwriting or how big a piece of paper you use,
the lines are still too long to fit on the page. This is exactly the feeling I had that night
with the sign, the feeling I'd hoped to rid myself of by being electrocuted, that I am having,
now. The lines, too long to fit on the page.
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3 comments:
Long lines - I like them.
The poem really picks up for me when you write:
"Let's say you are writing a letter to a large bureaucratic office"
because then I am involved with the happenings.
The long lines are a crisis, but a good one, the need of the writer to break the lines wherever he wishes. Awesome title, too.
Yay from
Prague
b,
i like how it moves into conversation.
i'd lop off the last line.
m
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