San Diego beats poets
San Diego poets are wet gutter snipers
Pot shots with reckless wealth and missing ages
From the street corners and side streets of our prematurely gray dementia.
San Diego poets throw lines like fishing reels
Screaming curses on angels in heels while
Humming blues sounds to the damned under our breaths.
San Diego poets spit surreal gimmicks into tapes of unfolding images
This rain rained like bright miserable confetti
Against an empty horizon of empty compassion.
San Diego poets glide their wild, horsehair arches
About strings that sing
Over a psychedelic landscape of gradually deteriorating human condition
You and I are not blind instruments of self-immolation.
We don’t have to sit in the middle of the fire to make it our home.
We can play our songs on sad violins
And dance in the rain to drown our worries of greater uncertainty in the ocean.
San Diego poets press our runny nose against
The aching windows of poorly lit coffee shops and smart bookstores,
Hosting poetry readings for those cared for;
Those who were brought up only in the blind arrogance of their own judgments.
San Diego poets never have enough money to buy you a drink
But you won’t regret it –
– When you’re ready to spare the change you need to make
– to make your tomorrow a little better.
San Diego poets litter the streets with our rattling mini typewriters
Sales of the doomsday fire to tourists and
Exemption for those who are still persecuted by carnivorous ambitions and
The climate of fear that tries to masquerade as survival.
San Diego poets are all clowns, fools and charlatans
We enjoy ourselves on the ragged streets of the cold hangover twilight
As we bounce around and dance through the mediocre circus that pervades us.
San Diego poets roam like hummingbirds
I am looking for warmer areas and warm compassion.
We blur our wings all the way to get there.
© Igor Goldkind, January 2020
This entry was posted on January 12, 2020, It was filed under new poetry.
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