perhaps i could make a book
based entirely on my
nonsense poetry
and perhaps it would get published
and perhaps scholars would study it
and wonder of the words i’m putting out there
and what they all mean
together
and i would have to tell them,
with a sorry expression
but still a devilish glint to my eye,
“my apologies, my guy,
it just means
nothing”
[and perhaps that in and of itself
would send the next generation of academics
into a whole new
tizzy]
j’ai espère que
je pouvais penser
en français
i’m fairly certain that is incorrect
damn close to gibberish
but the sentiment still stands
i wish i wish i wish
i could think
in french
maybe i could understand and speak it better
then
[was french the language my Mom studied in school?]
[could we have practiced together
if life didn’t suck so hard
in 2001?]
gibberish poems
can become
gibberish songs
which may be
exactly what i need to do
in order to stop me
from overanalyzing
and overjudging
and overscrutinizing
my own creativity
i don’t know what to write about
except gibberish
and nothingness
maybe a modicum of gibberish will help this morning poem come to fruition
a conglomeration of vocabulary i may or may not know the actual definition of
a plethora of words, used correctly or incorrectly
a whole ass menagerie of meaningless syllables somehow bringing meaning to something
in this morning poetry tradition
kipventures 