I was derping around in the poetry section of YahooAnswers one night and came across something truly magnificent. I don’t know if this is a poem by a famous/published poet, but I absolutely fell head-over-heels in lexical love with it. THIS IS NOT MY WORK, simply sharing something I found that I thought more than a few HEthens would fall in love with as well. The author’s Y!Answers account tag name was Picses.
I been to Nebraska and tasted the corn,
bursting gold and sweet through the shucks that hid it away.
I spent hours weeding it out of my teeth.
Taught me good things stick ’round till you get sick of them,
which is why I had to leave again.
I been to Florida and yelled at the sun,
asked it why it was so damn dishonest,
why it promised life and longevity and then disappeared at night.
I slathered me in sun screen so it wouldn’t infect me.
Found it hard to call it home ’cause my nose was red with fire and not frost.
I been to New York and met me an artist.
He asked me if I had a dollar to spare.
But ain’t no one’s got time to spare
for a man who paints lines so he can sniff lines.
Left him with some change hoping he’d realize he could.
I been to Texas to the bible belt.
Remembered I read once that “a belt’s not only for whipping,
it’s for holding things in place, too.”
Rolled joints with bible pages to get high, not holy.
But no belt or state or city’d hold me in place, so I rode away.
I been to Alaska to find Sam McGee.
Snow covering our Tennesee-hailing trailings.
I knew no crappy cremation’d save me and I shrugged at the northern lights ’cause I saw them before.
‘Cept in the skylines of living cities filled with rotting people, and sometimes inside rotting people filled with living life,
and once more in my rearview mirror on the highway.
I been to Nebraska, I been to Florida, I been to New York, I been to Texas, I been to Alaska.
I been in pasty pubs and I been in stranger’s cars. I been in love and I been in denial.
But I ain’t never been home except for in the arms of half-friends and in the last drops of half-bottles of whiskey.
I ain’t never wanted to find it either, but I’d be lying if I said I won’t die trying.