Wednesday, June 19th, 2013...6:40 pm

dennis leroy kangalee | three poems

Jump to Comments

Optimo Graffiti

Upside the wall, across the metal gated closed shop–a reminder of days gone by,
signage of non-rusty times,

It was optimo graffiti- the lens of us all:

“The only thing that should be risked in the name of art is one’s reputation, one’s feelings, and if materials are needed – one’s own money.” Other than that you gamble with the spirit, the choices, the color. The only thing that should die for the art is one’s fears. Even entertainment, art’s little brother, should be benign when it comes to the infringing upon the welfare of others. Buster Keaton may have chosen to hurt himself, but not another living creature. Even the destruction of solid objects should be frowned upon – unless they are revealing something in their still-life state – about our own static, frozen human condition. Breaking plates is one thing. Breaking a horse’s leg? That’s something else, entirely.”
- the Wall of 5 Pointz

All Trees Have Wombs

All trees have wombs
All lovers have time to choose
The death that they can put in their shirts
And iron out in the morning.

THE NIGHT PEOPLE

…and so a Jean Shepherd smile stares from up above
as the soft neon-light blinking “The Night People” once again hangs over
the lonely, dispossessed, marginalized, exiled, & fed up
the loners, the losers,
the women forlorn,
the guys
with the wives
that they regret,
aged hopes, burnt fears
come home to roost.
But, the night is yours
& belongs
to your vampire mesh & torn knees
that bend incredulously
through the high cotton of subway slumber
& deep
unemployment.
A hole to get lost in.
A fragment in the ear of the solar system where you can lose yourself & think about who you are.
A lot of people come here to be who they want to be, but you are trapped here & haunted by who you once were.
Some bars far off and over the rim of all the New York debris – are still like that.
If you can find one,
step in,
sit down,
order a drink – even if it’s just water.
And know that your days are numbered.
Don’t fake the funk—the city’s on its last leg….
But –
The cops in my head say it’s me.
The cops in my head say it’s me.
The cops in my head say it’s me.

And you.
Kafka at the Zoo.

Please visit Dennis Leroy Kangalee’s web page by clicking here…

1 Comment

Leave a Reply