#1255 bullet-hole poetry

i wanna blow a hole in your rock 'n roll
a roman candle in your soul

if my poems were art
they would be the the four-year old's scribbled colouring book page
the page before the page the kid wants to colour
but is ordered to completed the prescripted pictures in order

i wanna be roop or soulful jones
koyczan or mali the man

i wanna write a poem that causes in you
a chemical reaction
like fire for a log
changing forever
unable to return to your prior state


i wanna blow a hole in your whole soul
kill cold, rock 'n roll

i wanna pen a poem
that brings you back to your fourth summer
digging in Dad's dirt pile
searching for Austrailia
practically another planet
back to the excitement of the prospect
back to the fear of the possibility, of orange-hot lava
back to the mathematical certainty
that if you can dig waist-deep before Mum calls, "Lunchtime"
then you'll be able to hit the Earth's core by supper
and maybe, before bedtime... Australia
just you, and your plastic shovel

i wanna blow a whole hole in your sole soul
rock your rock and roll your role