"Unbidden," Liam Wiexel
Do you think—
hold on lemme clear my throat…
do you think it was
that the hill was too steep
or the stone too unwieldy
for Sisyphus to crest,
undress, and rest peacefully?
I contend it was destiny,
Yes, I see, a full-throated
Cheer for destiny. He said
To me, you know he said--
He opened his mouth and
he said “We are legion”
and thousands of people
poured forth from new regions.
Respected and next to your bed,
In the closet, the well-prepared
Devil makes off with the prophet.
And profit makes perfect,
Or so I’ve been coddled
You’ll be lucky to make it
With wallet unfondled.
I need more words than this
With which to build more worlds than this.
In a beeline for freedom I
Mix rum with Darjeeling and
tip the portents of my mind
out of teacup-skull
onto paper. And in this way
I leave myself notes for later.
I wish I could write one million
Words and make them all feel
Filling, like a chronically depressed
Bob Dylan. Basically,
I would like to be Bob Dylan.
You baroque your ribs
On backhanded compliments
And meant to say more about
Your development since.
I baroco my poems and feel
Like a goose, nevertheless I believe
That I leave enough clues.
I take cues from the Shaman of
Kesswill, shadowboxing Olympian.
By the time I’m thirty-one
I think I’ll reach one million.
I need more words than this,
With which to build more worlds than this.