Travis Snell

Searching around for understanding
Standing under a bridge between left and right and demanding
A way out of this unusual situation
For this caucasian
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We were done and I was thirsty
So she made a drink and then,
By the time she gave it to me,
I knew the poison was within.
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Man 1: These words.
These words, these words, these words don’t do a thing.
These words don’t bring what you so valiantly sing.
But of course, you claim them to be what they ain’t.
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There’s something about synonyms that’s simply satisfying
They’re sensuous and marvelous. They make you feel like crying.
And beyond the central denotation
Of what they bring to conversations,
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I want to write a masterpiece
Just like Tennessee (Williams that is)
But the only ten I see
Is the number of people reading my poetry,
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“I hear you listening”
Words that God spoke.
“I hear you listening
Over there.
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Hush, now, brother. Keep thy calm.
Sit you down and sing a song
But softly now; you know the tale,
Why for our sister angels wail
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I heard her talking to the piano.
I was lucky enough to be there.
Eavesdropping, yes, but rude? I don't think so.
I merely overheard the music in the air,
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I am two things at once.
Very much like I am both Latino and Caucasian;
I am both poet and soldier.
I enjoy the harsh disciplinary system
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Blah, blah, blah and halleluiah!
Can I get an “amen? ! ”
Ladies and gentlemen we are gathered here today
To celebrate the union of these two in…not so holy matrimony!
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Rhyme and rhythm,
Rhythm and rhyme,
Meter and measure,
And keeping time.
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