Page 32 - September 2017

What am I supposed to do by Jarrod Karimi
What am I supposed to do
Write a political poem about how the government treats
its people like expendable slaves Especially if they are poor or black
What am I supposed to do
Write a love poem about the love I don’t have in my life
My empty arms, and sad cock
What am I supposed to do
Start a band at forty one and strum my way to the grave What am I supposed to do
Paint a masterpiece and hang it in the air for the blind to see What am I supposed to do
Discard my possessions and drop out of society
What am I supposed to do
Stand idly by while white men suppress my skin
What am I supposed to do
Throw away my bag of boo and drink your genocidal hooch What am I supposed to do
Write the great American novel then bury it with a shovel Beside our assassinated prophets
What am I supposed to do
Write a poem about writing poetry on the house for you What should I do
Work away my time to rent an expensive room
What should I do
When you change the channel to Fox news
And vitriol spews like blood from a nasty wound
I haven’t even had a proper coffee yet
What should I do
My mother was Catholic my father was Muslim
I could not accommodate both religions
I am the result of peace between the sheets
The war is inside of me
Inside of us all
What should I do
Move to Hollywood and get typecast as a terrorist Perpetuate the ignorance at the cineplex
What should I do
Hang up my weapons and submit to the haters
Simply follow the Manchurian leaders
What should I do
Go back to the earth, the maggots can eat me for dessert
I know what to do
Stay close to the earth
Don’t let the devil on the playground
Continue to serve the imagination’s expressions
Amidst the oppression and draconian politicians
I lost it all
I have nothing to lose
And a man with nothing only has one thing
His spirit
You can fight for profit
But it wont beat spirit
Remember Vietnam
You’re in one right now
Nobody wins a war but the insurance companies
What should I do
Act like everything is cool, drop acid until I drool
Go back to debt go back to school
So I can learn some pass’e skills
Some robot inevitability will fill
Maybe I should just take the zombie pill
Blissfully bag your cake and water
While you gas Otto Frank’s daughter
I dont think so
illustration by Kris Pothier
I am going to put my ear to the universe
I am going to listen
Listen to the earth
To the voices of the many gods that I serve That serve me
That are me
The balance is off, the water is drugged
He killed himself after playing unplugged
The sky is grey the streets are angry
The heat is hellish at a 100 degrees
What should I do
Fight on my knees pray on my feet
Take the situation to the streets
Your waste taste divine to the famished
Your trash can clothe the skin and bones
Of war torn civilian souls
Your pocket lint can save Flint
Yet the bellies of the rich obscure their tiny dicks
What a bunch of selfish pricks
Playing monopoly with communities
From your five star amenities
Can you feel the beat of insanity knocking on your sanctuary
I miss cassette tapes, telephones, and libraries
When you had to do the footwork for information
Now we have a one click situation
Sex politics and instant gratification
Memes fan the flames of intellectual deterioration
What am I supposed to
Lose control when I gave none to you
Control is submitting to
What am I supposed to do
There is no end in sight to these poems dragging me by the wrist like an impatient mother through a carnival of carnies in the early eighties when everyone was afraid someone would steal their babies
I take in the scent of burning pink sugar, butter, and fry bread
The sexy subterranean woman
Dons a black hoop neck for a dress
Blows her bangs away
From those wadjet eyes
And boards the megatron
The heat beats down like an orange hammer
Pounding me into a Samurai’s sword
The band unleashed a generation of teenagers upon the haters
I drank a warm beer from a plastic cup
Then set all of the animals free
Then headed toward the sea
And watched the sunset melt like a box of crayons in Arizona summer heat.
32 • SEPTEMBER 2017 | the NOISE arts & news | www
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