Ph.D Volo Von Wolfenstein | + Follow Poet |
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I'M Still Hearing the Voices

They say 'you've got it kid',
but first you gotta rid
yourself of all that fakery,
the constructed rhyme
like rye and flour primed
to exit out the bakery,
and you cannot, should not
loaf, or doubt anything
you ever wrote, it's progress-
but what path to take?

Should I break apart,
the seeming apparition
of life and love that is gained
and lost in boxcars moving 
across the prairies in
spiritual unison-
   What is to be done
with this poet who I found
   hiding under a flithy sheepskin?

And what of our Sanfrancisco flower
blooming in scattered graveyards
where the pounding Beat has died,
and decomposed decisively
around small parts of the world,
inside the mutant hearts 
of shivering canadian poets
who continue crave the corpse.

Another voice would say:
The hell with all these rat bastards!
True art is what you stick with,
hell or high water, so you can take criticism
and flush it down the toilet, like
the American Dream. You are your own God,
because that son of a ***** left
for good during The War,

Thus,

Thy choice in art is feuled by love,
and love be feuled by truth,
so open up thy lonely eyes,
and see in thee the proof. 

There are so many voices,
and each constrain my words
to a vision of past greatness,
and new poetry, shall be
a combination, an alchemy
of fire and ice, foreign
and domestic, the self
humming in unison 
with the universe,
vibrating time and space,
in pure emotion,
organized choas,
contained and made conscious,
experienced, and purged
from the self 
in verse.

Copyright © Ph.D Volo Von Wolfenstein | Year Posted 2011

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