Two Poems by Kyle Eldridge

I’m Not Cool

?
when will i learn
that its not cool:
to be a drunk
or a junkie
or to read books by drunk junkies
or to like jazz
or even acid rock
or ‘hallucinogenic country music’
or to use kerouac references
or to admire people in a kerouacian way
or to list my vulnerability as one of my ‘redeeming characteristics’
or to defend insanity as a ‘viable alternative’
or to describe psychedelic sessions in which i believe i experienced ‘ego death’
or to play freeform ‘jams’ on guitar thru fuzz pedals disregarding ABAB song structure
or to let kittens playfully nibble at my toes while laughing and smiling and feeling happy
or to say fuck it and quit my job for no real reason
or to stay in bed for a day and a half every fortnight or so
or to be shy and withdrawn one minute and overly exuberant the next
or to try and pass off my ‘experimental blues rock’ as ‘avant garde sound poems’
or to take over-the-counter sleep aids and herbs known for their anti-anxiety and sedative qualities
or to say i like certain aspects of religion
or to really believe the world is anarchy and chaos
or to perceive inapplicability
or to say or even think ‘im bored’
or to desperately want richly symbolic dreams and sometimes have them
or to openly praise my friends, being sincere whether they know it or not
or to buy big bottles of whiskey
or to switch from Patsy Cline to the Sex Pistols on a whim
or to re-read my favorite books over and over and sometimes last chapter first
or to say ‘i dont know’ or ‘its too complicated’ when the answer is important to the person asking
or to ponder the socio-political consequences of LSD use in the 1960s
or to smoke Pall Mall cigarettes because they are the cheapest, not because Kurt Vonnegut smoked them
or to like ‘the idea’ of transcendental meditation but never practice it
or to enjoy things that make me sad
or to occasionally see things meant to make people happy as silly
or to think having kids is okay as long as you understand they are smarter than you and love them unconditionally
or to stare catatonically at bad drywall jobs and dents in hardwood flooring, not caring about workmanship just shapes and chance and colors
or to make proclamations that Ozzy Osbourne lyrics are mystically profound
or to feel really bleak when i know i should be excited about life
or to not ‘be myself’ sometimes and almost use that phrase then chuckle at the absurdity of it
or to like Jung more than Freud
or to watch youtube for hours when i have stuff to do
or to not put cds back in their cases
or to even use cds when an ipod would be much easier
or to sometimes ‘hate’ ‘smart’ people
or to not talk to my parents enough
or to talk to my parents too much
or to idolize black, left handed guitarists with big afros and big amplifiers and sexually provocative stage moves and messages of love
or to be indecisive about whether to call a girl pretty or cool, when i should probably say either both or nothing
or to say nothing when i want to say something
or to want to take back things that i said, knowing its just selfishness
or to wish i was rich or famous not to be rich or famous but simply to have more opportunities to meet interesting people
or to laugh just cause everybody else is laughing
or to laugh just cause no one else is laughing
or to laugh to make someone feel comfortable
or to laugh to make someone feel uncomfortable
or to laugh when im alone
or to cry in company
or to want things i cant express in any way
or to write poetry


Getting Ready

and it was spoken that
when 12 oclock rolled around
i was going to get out of here,
the time was ripe as juicy plums
with wrinkled pits.
liquid running down mountainous cheeks
onto tender breasts with lactation.
sticky sweetness like ejaculate spurts
bouncing off the teeth.
o yes i was going to get the fuck out
and in style too.
i would wear my new black hat
and everything would be alright.
the lucky hat.
i never put it on the bed,
always threw it on the floor.
so here i am wanting to go
who knows where for
who knows what reason
except to get out.
fast.
lightning speed will be necessary.
thunder, footsteps of god and
lightning, bolts of zeus.
zinging through the dawn into tomorrow.
shooting the pistol into the future
dividing air into more basic molecules
constituent parts.
the twilight has lifted
now i am ready for a perilous quest
it will take a keen interest and
a solid vantage point
to stay calm.
in the open there is all to see
and all can see me.
but i am not one to be seen,
i am the sea,
i am nothingness
encased in somethingness.
vast empty expanses are the norm.
everything is black at a certain depth,
and the pressure also increases.
the farther down i dive,
the less i see,
the more i feel.
so this journey is that of an idiot.
retrograde action
retribution
syrupy bass tones and jellyroll saxophones
twirl around me like fireflies.
like spiders trying to scratch their asses.
like the laugh of a retard.
like real soul.
like bacon and eggs and homefries
with an orange and a cup of coffee refilled 4 times.
the old times. the good times.
now times. meow times.
cow times. moo moo


Profile: Kyle Eldridge

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2 thoughts on “Two Poems by Kyle Eldridge

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