Flashing #17: e.e.cummings

Well, considering the fact that I'm only dedicating around an hour a week to this year-long exercise, this had to happen eventually: I am actually embarrassed by today's story. It's supposed to be the original memoir done as an homage to e.e. cummings but it came out as a complete hack-job; a high school journal reject at best.

I was never good at poetry. That never really stopped me from writing it, however. Man, in high school, I thought I was the shit when it came to poetry. I look back at my journals upon journals of vapid verse and laugh now. Apparently I didn't learn my lesson, however, because I actually thought I could emulate e.e. cummings.

Gah...well...here's my take on cummings. His poems always seem so chaotic but the underlying structure is often rhythmic and light, especially when read aloud. I tried tried to capture that feel, played with syllables and rhyme styles, but fuck it, there's really not point in explaining it. Complete failure.

Oh well. Read it only if you want to laugh. I apologize to all poets and poetry lovers out there. If you want other, better Flashing stories please check out the main page.

___________________________

tonight

it was just me talking with
just me
drinking with just me
and saying to trust just me

as i leave the bar alone
barbs are thrown from my new old friends; i’m safe in the rain

i thought

a call from you would be all
from you
i would need from you
so i can feel numb from you

but i walk home alone
my phone nestled in my pocket; it’s safe from the rain

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