Banana Fever
Craig Kirchner
And I can’t be running
back and forth forever,
between grief
and high delight.
— J.D. Salinger,
Franny and Zooey
To
empathize without restraint
is strangely suicidal -
you rambling fools content
to write yourselves another Bible
have traveled long to Magdalene,
to drink the never-ending,
but you’ll be delayed in yards,
to wait for merchants ever-spending.
Here to sit and grit the worst,
of epitaphs and clichés -
It’s all been said.
Pass the pipe.
Would you buy a crab from me, please?
Then as sure as Galilee’s whore
they’ll want to know the reason,
why one so young and atrophied,
should tamper with such treasons.
You’ll reply with tongue of fire,
that there are things along the way
one must get straight before the flood,
before the Day of Days.
Your forehead gnaws,
you raise yourself,
you rush into the street -
a woman passing by in rags,
flashes attention to your feet.
Wash not these feet with your hair of straw,
I’ll need them along the way.
You
poets are all alike somehow-
trying to die for love or hate,
but your pompous ass will die in vain,
they’ll carry you to your grave,
they’ll mumble words and epitaphs,
that you’ll know are just more clichés.
Her cup of angst will outlast love,
though gorged to the brim with flesh -
you’ll reply to the rest of the group,
that your exit is clear of regret,
you’ll brace yourself with dove at temple,
scream as if for rain,
To die for death, now there’s a fate!
‘It’s all been’
said can’t touch or name.