Word Legos

WORD LEGOS

We’re in purgatory ‘til we purge our stories, right?

So, here, I’ma try my hand at Shakespeare.

After all, I was born already half way there.

So I begin.

And I began with my eyes open wide,

Stayed open through Yale on my near full ride.

You can call that assisted suicide

Cause in my time at Yale

I took in what I could but I did not inhale.

Yes, they refine your mind at this fine institution

but distract you from the fact they leave you spiritually stupid.

They teach you not just how but what to think,

and that’s that your sh*t don’t stink.

Yes, I’m from Bridgeport, but that Kool-Aid I will NOT drink.

Confusion trickles down from the Ivory Tower of Babel:

“Forget swingsets. Here, instead, we play with p-sets and Scrabble.”

Pedantic playgrounds groom children to believe themselves God

yet doom children to be spiritually robbed of their humanity,

their true divinity.

Intelligent and Eloquent but still Ignorant.

It’s a tragedy.

This was me.

I graduated, my mind blazin’

but my soul

deferred

a raisin

restrained,

But that refrain stayed playin’,

that refrain stayed slayin’

through all that section BS-in’

and second guessing—

that refrain,

that do or die question.

But TENNYSON—

tell me:

Why does this light brigade feel so heavy?

And Lord levy

this charge,

my curse—

my blessing:

My heart sends out strong signals but I get spotty reception.

Twenty-three years of testing

and only at this intersection

can I stand in my truth

and hold it self evident.

Then SLAM!

Take these high hopes

and negative slopes

intercept them.

y=mx+b still doesn’t answer: why?

Who am I next to be?

High, with the sun shining next to me?

Or doomed to die having had nobody

join me in my primal ecstacy?

Stated more explicilty:

I love life’s simplicity,

and like a child I want to play endlessly.

Will you

wander bravely

into the art

that saves me

from life’s hard parts

when the heart’s dark?

Some words from the wise

child:

Travel light for all expeditions,

internal missions,

eternal visions

and nuclear fissions.

Ding

Time to fuse with the muse!

Zoom past the visible spectrum

with its reds and its blues

overused in our flags

and our bruises—

OLD NEWS!

Let’s go!

Newton’s Law of Conservation states a rolling stone gathers no moss

so lets go!

Oprah’s Law of Conversation states the best listener makes the best boss

so let’s go!

I wonder:

Do you think Waldo thought he was lost?

I want to cruise with Emerson!

Blaze through a trail with Emma’s Sun!

(I don’t mean to disrespect the cultured but

I ain’t got time to be a vulture and

pick apart the decomposing corpses of dead composers

my corpus callosum can’t help but connect opposing art forms

I’m guilty

by free association!)

Verse done.

Journey begun.

To infinity!

Between zero

and one.

Emma Speer