Bruckner

Lately I have been wondering

If I might’ve been

Anton Bruckner, before.

You know, like

Reincarnation and shit.

Whatever version you subscribe to–

I’m convinced that we are all

Recycled souls–

Otherwise why the fuck

Would I have been

So incredibly angry

As a three-year-old?!

Clearly I was working through

My last life’s bullshit

Fresh out the womb,

No intermission.

Bruckner seems like

My kinda dude:

Country, woodsy

Down-to-earth.

Organist by nature–

Symphonist by ardor.

I do most all things

Powered by ardor, powered

By passion and interest and

Enthusiasm for doing something

I wasn’t invited to do.

I like crashing parties,

I especially like crashing

Rich-people-parties

Farting and burping and

Howling at the moon

Yeowling and screaming and swearing

Watching their faces turn from

Red, to purple, to blue

I, too–

Have been ridiculed and belittled

The way that Bruckner was

And continues to be

I understand why this guy

Was so confident, yet so

Anxious and second-guessed

Just about everything he did

I have multiple versions

Of every episode

Of every poem

I edit ruthlessly

I have backlogs of edits on wordpress

That go back months before they were even published

And yet somehow I’m still pumping out

3-5 poems a day

All edited past the point of

Recognition

All beauty filtered through

Other people’s ambitions for me to

Fail! Why do I listen to the

Demon on my shoulder

Who’s done nothing but hurt me

I should just trust my gut

Pay attention to history

Push forward and

Stop second-guessing what I am

A force of nature, that society doesn’t

Want to let in.

Have you seen people in Kentucky

Try to travel when it rains?

Me neither. They stay home.

I wonder, nowadays

If humanity straight-up hates nature

Hiding away in their little “shelters”

Protecting themselves from

The damage they caused

Shielding themselves from the blame

Of damaging her so much she had to

Retaliate

I hear a lonely bastard,

When I listen to Bruckner.

Instead of hiding away,

Eclipsing with boredom, I embrace

What I naturally am–

A long-winded anxious bumpkin

Editing until

Everything that’s me is gone.


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