Sunday, October 26, 2008

My art: Dustin Parks' poetry

I want this blog to be about other people, about the things the people I meet have dedicated their lives to. I want it to be about fleeting passions (seconds) and life-long loves (decades). My brother, Dustin, started writing poetry a few years ago. It's actually ironic - as a teenager, he only read one book. But now, he's quite the literary. This poem holds the intersection of seconds and decades. I really love it. He wrote it for his first-ever poetry class:

Rapid Eye Movement

My bed transformed into an old water-damaged sailboat,

marooned in a field, miles from the infested suburbs.

I worked part-time in nearby pastures herding sheep,

but ran away when offered a job as a lab technician.

Then fired 3 days later for denouncing stem cell research

Homeless once again

I camped out for 18 nights in the attic of a theater

peering down on empty seats, imagining applause.

I've driven across endless bridges (they seemed familiar).

Dark clouds held them up

with thin fishing line. There were no guardrails

for my passengers' protection.

I've had 93 dates with my kindergarten sweetheart.

Each time I get closer to finding out where she lives.

Last Tuesday I flew a red flag

from my tricycle's handlebars,

then peddled my way into a crowd of businessmen

while screaming REVOLUTION!

I was thrown in jail after a low-speed chase

Labeled a terrorist by the long arm of the law.

Burned the patriot act to keep

me warm at night. After my court trial,

I was sentenced to work an entire year

with the greatest show on earth.

I walked tight ropes made of dental floss,

but brushed my teeth with strands of wires.

I went all the way with the bearded lady

(she is shaved in all the right places). I woke up

right before I could climax, like always.

Opening my eyes to only see the morning

wood. I am convinced my pineal glad is a virgin

who finds some sick humor in this strategic arousal.

1 comment:

neola said...

I love this description of the dreamtime. Dustin does a beautiful job of capturing the weight of our fleeting subconscious, all the things we wish for.

I especially love this devastating thought:
I camped out for 18 nights in the attic of a theater peering down on empty seats, imagining applause.