Monthly Archives: May 2017

Kitsch

If I ever felt that I hadn’t written a poem in a long time,
I’d start writing fucking bullshit,
I’d use the word ‘eight’ eight times,
eight eight eight eight eight eight eight eight,
I’ll mass produce it,
and one of the copies will scream!
“eight eight eight eight eight eight eight eight eight,”
What is the fucking difference?
As long as I obscurely talk about heartbreaks and idyllic scenes,
As long as I know what to write about,
it’s a poem, right?

All the moments we miss out on,
I’d say her eyes were beautiful,
and the hot chocolate was getting cold,
fucking let it, it’s one-hundred-and-thirteen degrees Fahrenheit outside,
I could do with some bloody cold,
but you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you,
and her, her, her, her, her, her, her, her,
and a cinematic change in how her hair was tied
in one and an ohmigosh half hour,
and I’d use the word ‘palpable’ four-hundred times,
and ‘skip’ another one-thousand-five-hundred-and-twenty-seven,
randomly generated kitschy number,
jesus christ man,
does sentimentality even have its own color?
as soon as the chameleon is exposed,
it runs, it runs, it runs, it runs,
it jumps off the table,
wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle,
it has no table manners,
it dives into sewers, it hops into puddles,
and comes back a little black,
and makes me a little blue,
colors can also be so kitschy,
and that makes me feel a little yellow perhaps.