301 Moved Permanently

301 Moved Permanently


Organic Curare

A winner of the 2012 Downtown Eastside Writers’ Jamboree Writing Contest.

Ovaltine Cafe I: Adam Hogarth. From This is East Van: A Community Photography Project, 2011.

Take a moment now
And cop a listen
To something
I just gotta get
Outta my system
I’m sitting here
Getting mucho pissed
And right annoyed again
Complaining to myself
Making that noise again
A big-ass
Bad-ass poet
But my name’s not Koyczan
If you want introductions:
I’m Persona non Grata
Sneaking ’round town
Like Rushdie
Avoiding a fatwa
And after
You’ve read the reports
And seen the data
You’ll find me sitting here
Head down, hat off
Another Downtown loser
And Eastside jack-off
Trying to decide
Whether I’m going to
Kick it up a notch
Or just fucking back off
Tighten up the noose
Or let that fucker slack off
I might just
Light up a joint and chill
Like I’m on sabbatical
It causes brain damage
In my case grammatical
Makes my words confused
Morose and fanatical
Yet I’m not convinced
My thinking’s that radical
I’m restrained by the
Strongest of manacles
Born in the wrong century
I’m composing canticles
And symphonies
Having epiphanies with
Girls named Tiffany
Coming to the conclusion:
Life’s not stiffing me
But I won’t willingly
Abandon my negativity
So know that
The song I sing
Will never be:
“Oh lucky man!”
You’ve heard of
“the palace of my shame”?
Well, welcome to Buckingham!
Please, spare me your pity
That’s a marker
Not worth
A good “Goddamn!”
Believe me
I’m doing the best I can
To improve my situation
I’ve got a front row seat
On an endless vacation
Going up on stage
Engaging in verbal masturbation
The forecast called for Rayne
But, I’m inundation
I’m always
On the bus
When I wanna drive Ferrari
Smoking weed when
I wanna do adrenochrome
And organic curare
Living alone when
I wanna go back in time and
Marry my childhood sweetheart
Angela Miuri
I’ve come so far
But I’m still prone to worry
You say: “Easy does it!”
But, Fuck it!
I think it’s best to hurry
Now, let me restate my case
In case it’s getting blurry:
My life’s a shitstorm
That tends to come in flurries
And I’m fleeing a fictitious conviction
From an uptight suburban jury
’Cause my shit doesn’t play there
Not even out in Surrey

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