Randy Jack

Randy Jack Poems

The Best Poem Of Randy Jack

Cheers To The Years I'Ve Been Here

Don't fall in love with me.
Fall in love with my words.
Be them. Eat them. Excrete them. Sleep with them.
Make them something that's more than this.
Because this? It's a parking ticket, ninja starred under a windshield wiper too slow to swipe away secrets from a past life I don't remember.
I am the rain. I believe that to the core of my dropp dropp dropp down to the bottom of it all and dissolve. No sort of identity when it boils down. So no offense ever.
And each December its embers burn me like emergency.
I'm not an artist, I'm a bar floor denizen
Drunk like ten again, crawling through estrogen, searching for that anti-Freudian ploy to take me away from lay and lay and lay.
See, I've been spinning the table of contents turned on me since I birthed these poems.
Alone and a loner but not lonely.
I keeps it so frequent, that database dump of dickhead's digest
Enough to find that my soul don't turn over in its contract
The devil's cross eyed when I keep honest
It's his sport
Not supposed to be as good as
I drink. Like a day job. I know my predecessors did the same. I'd hope my contemporaries do.
And for an author. For a writer. For an artist, it's STILL fun and games.
Pollock gets plastered and plasters art onto a canvas.
Hemingway gets hazy and hammers out holy grails for your half witted harlequins.
I'd only wish the Philistine filibuster upon my twister tongue.
To speak like spoken to simply to simmer down in the sand slowly.
I am. Drunk. The liquid, viscous, tells my liver to consider the consequences of real world after the real world gets done owning me
So I owe it all to poetry
Pouring like the last shot before morning. Never boring. Always exploring.
Flooring the pedal. High octane hydrant of higher learning. And it spills. Like...the last shot before morning.
I could be an anything. You name it. Hit it with a finger on the front page. Probably. Got enough of them ol' smarts. Got enough of that ol' 'he's a prodigy! '
But I'm a poet.
Sister, I'm a poet.
Cut and copy oddity. And I'm glad to be. I ought to be.

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