The Iceberg Theory
all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce.
you’d think romaine was descended from
orpheus’s laurel wreath,
you’d think raw spinach had all the nutritional
benefits attributed to it by popeye,
not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of
veriaine and debussy.
they’ll even salivate over chopped red cabbage
just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.
I guess the problem is
it’s just too common for them.
It doesn’t matter that it tastes good,
has a satisfying crunchy texture,
holds its freshness
and has crevices for the dressing,
whereas the darker, leafier varieties
are often bitter, gritty, and flat.
It just isn’t different enough and
it’s too goddamn american.
of course a critic has to criticize;
a critic has to have something to say
perhaps that’s why literary critics
purport to find interesting
so much contemporary poetry
that just bores the shit out of me.
at any rate, I really enjoy a salad
with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,
the more the merrier,
drenched in an Italian or roquefort dressing.
and the poems I enjoy are those I don’t have
to pretend that I’m enjoying.
Scanned transport card
Smooshed into a can of passengers
We are intimate for one second
And not intimate at all.
Discomfort and comfort
Will not be touched again that day
I haven’t talked to anyone yet today
Towards the same direction we sway
I don’t have to be here.
Lost in a current of indecision
Afraid of meaning
These names I will forget with time.
But addicted to bonds
Each costing me
An amount of feelings
I have to save
And I waste away
When there’s no guarantee
No warranty for kindness.
I sit in the seat
Back and forth
Never making exits
Always missing chances
To discover a new world
For the realms I know
Disappoint and terrify
And I know why.
I don’t know why.
Warped like a different segment of life that I will never see
Their world moves before
Is not unique
It’s rather bleak
To go outside
The sunlight blinds the minds eye
For a happiness
You may not have…
I’d much rather
Near the rails
Where everyone lost
Wants to be.
Shall I create an excuse
To talk to you?
Your colourful jumper precipitates
A colourful personality.
You jumped out at me
In my attention
Which was sorely bemused by the state of affairs
I wonder to what extent
You know that I care,
And that I am watching you fetter.
For my courage was daunted
By the expectation
To keep to myself
You were gone before I had the chance to even make an opportunity
To feign myself stupid
To ask a question:
This question was crafted for your ears alone
Though it sounds guileless, this fact is unknown.
Should the answer solicit further interest
I would have been ready to plunge myself into darkness
And you would have no idea
That I was thinking
You tell me how I look at the world
Open your eyes, my child
Underneath a veil of distraction
Are you perceiving truly?
Relax your worries
Every silly thought,
Be it or not, can you see?
Even the tiniest beads of water
A droplet of perfect tears
Understand this nature’s nature…
There’s much to care for, here.
I found comfort in sorrow
Filled my brain with ignorance
Until I promptly noticed-
Life is simply gorgeous.