The Paralyzed Poem by Rob Plath

this poem is
so self-conscious
it is seriously
contemplating
suicide

it daydreams about
diving off the
goddamn page

becoming an unpoem
a jumble of sentences
a pile of mere letters

i'm trying to
get it to be
like other
well-adjusted
poems

unself-conscious

a poem that
humps the NOW

but this poem
has hamlet-itis

it doesn't give shit
about
its readers
or the writer

i keep pressing it
to experience more

but all it does is
ponder the curves
& 90 degree angles
of its letters

it thinks subject matter
is meaningless

it says god is
inertia

it prefers writer's
block

this poem is
paralyzed

what this poem needs
is a bottle
of whiskey
& some smokes

but it's being
a stubborn sober
pussy

5 comments:

Wolfgang Carstens said...

[ laughing ] Hamlet-itis! What a hoot of a poem! Well done, Mr. Plath.

FrostingandFire said...

This is an awesome poem.

angel of lust said...

Fucking good poem!
Great work Rob

George Anderson said...

Another one of your masterpieces about the craft of writing. Always wonderful to read.

shefeels said...

haha loved it. very witty.

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