but aren't they all random?

A Pocketful of Poesy was a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog* up until the great derail of 2013. The impossibly-high standard of quality proved impractical to keep up, without a book deal. But don't take my word for it: click RANDOM and judge for yourself! And feel free to offer your critique.
*based on poem rate for calendar years 2009-2012. Also, kidding about the book deal.

Friday, May 01, 2009

I speak a hundred languages

I speak a hundred languages
not well
not as a cultured native, and
not even as a well-studied visitor, no
but more like a thug
Like one who spoke
his own language,
but with contempt
with a twist in his face
at home with it, yes
- but like one at home
with squalor. To whom bitterness
made truths of lies
I know not why.
The words come to me
like strangers,
and I use them. Full-knowing
how to use them, but not knowing
what they should have meant
if better used.

my gift is a curse,
not as in some great cosmic burden, no
I mean simply that profanity
has a peculiar
From my tongue,
spring tongues of others
as if I - a medium, by they possessed
- am entered into, by spirits
not foul, but certainly uncouth
I know not why, or who, all
they leave me is their tongues
and the words to swear by
they died, perhaps,
without cursing the world enough

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