both my cookies and my milk are crumbling
somewhere, at some point someone said to me “that’s the way the cookie crumbles”. Regardless of the obscure chain of meaning in this phrase, i like it because what it signifies to me is something completely separate from the words on the page…if you know what I mean. If this simplifies anything for some of my readers, I have written this poem as a reaction to my horrifying experiences thus far in literary theory class.
by marie Gordon
I didn’t used to write
As if I were afraid
I trickled down metaphors
I rhymed like a chirper
And smiled with every
Syllable and pun
I packed into my lines
Which never really were mine
I took meaning
On hangers
Kept its colors bright
No bleaching pedagogy
Stifled the signified
So sick and sinful
So sweet and sublime
How I used to write
With such sickening rhymes
As if I were
Singing a song
Pretending like
Words were little notes
To pitter-patter down
Always too lightly,
Meaning
Wasn’t it grand
Playing a piano
That was never so great
Because the notes
Will never match
Maybe it was only
Grand
Because I told myself
I was signifying
Like a champ
Sweet
Fiery
Chariots
Whisk me away
For the love of God
from this Derridian oven
Technorati Tags: postmodern, postmodernism, writing, poetry, poem, style, cookies, milk, crumbling
No commentsNo comments yet. Be the first.
Leave a reply