A Somewhat Manifesto, somewhat resisting Doug C.

Tree-Stem-Apple I. Tree People think poetry is easy because of the gaps, but this is exactly why I challenge you to rethink it. These gaps must be perfectly placed, orthodontist unlike this poem, waiting for action over time words eject you from your seats tear books off Barnes & Noble’s shelves dump your Starbucks on the ground make something artful for your self. Stop the spoon feeding please. Wake up one day and realize this is it, not waiting for another plane Gulf of Mexico hurricane. Your brother is sitting next to you I next to him. The watch of complacency keeping us all in line-check. Remember when we grew through grass roots. Gardens mattered before there were so many people that became matter. So many people, confusing choice always holding out for better man Super Size better deal not so new one true love. Come find your true love for the night. silver Patron shots seven dollars. One, two, three, four tell me you don’t love me anymore. Blood shots, eyes, a want to leave, try to sneak out at five, but you make me linger for guilt to feign a commitment that will not happen. You’re not it. No dumped books but your coffee is on the floor. Don’t listen, don’t hear, don’t understand, just nod your head, pull on my beard a bit, it makes me feel like a cat. II. Stem I always pull on my beard expecting jewels to fall out, because I can’t just give up, so I take it out on my beard. There’s too much relying on me, What? You say. My fathers’ untended walkabouts, my friends who waver without moving who don’t want the flatline, who need the highs and lows that come with imbalances in the mind form manmade poison that society requires me to pay my life with work my life with so many people. Can’t I just bob and weave in stagelight, singing some too cute lovesong with boyish good looks, impetuousness that I left in a bronze van in the Oakland Coliseum parking lot? The release set in, smile curl up the controls set loose upon personal testing of limits around my head, when I can’t just let a good beard sit when I’d rather pass time pulling Brillo pad hairs resisting like roots of a Chia pet. Enough pull uprooted carrots for peeling to split ends. III. Apple Which is more resistant the subject or the voice? What do you love young poet? What are you in opposition to? Can you be idealistic? Only with my trombone- jackhammer in hand, a lever of the green machine over red tornado clay liquid mud I spread over you lyrics misrecited, I still wonder are the gapsin my head or in your body?