TYPE YOUR SYNOPSIS HERE
Hey Mike,
Why are we not famous in this town
This Mountian of Clemens
For which i Still belong
And you frequently visit?
Why when I write of myself
Do I struggle to capitalize the "i"
Laughing when I think of we...
Trench coats and cheap alcohol
Wandering coffee shops and bookstores?
Why are our names not found at Borders, or Barnes and Noble?
Why do we live as politicians of the Big Boy instead of America
Why are we not touring the world, with or words and our banter?
Why do we still dream of these things? Are we too old?
My legend suggests the closeness I have gotten to greatness
Now I sit in a classroom, grading badly written essays and poems
By students who know me as "Mr. Conwell",
I should be what they study, as should you, not who they study for
When you walk into my classroom, in the future, when I have control
We will both be icons, even if for a moment
We will be rockstars to my kids
And then we will go to Big Boy for coffee
And pretend that was enough
Friday, February 15, 2008
A Letter to MC Guimond
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1 comment:
yes, my friend. we'll share our gifts with those given to us to share them with. we'll toast our secret greatness, the secret great lives we've led and will continue to lead. we'll touch others and be touched. we'll even be taught by little children, and thus become as little children, ever appreciative for the blessings which never seem to end. even amid the suffering the flowers of ourselves will thrive. our tears are as plenty as our laughter. we are making a goddamn difference by being ourselves. we never need the masses to love us. we need our friends. we need to chainsmoke and now and then get drunk. love, mc guimond
ps: fuck yeah, I'll appear before your future classes. I'll cut out the swear words of course, and tell those damn kids about poetry and the miracle of being alive, the sheer wondrous terrible joy of it! and how they can make a difference simply by being themselves.
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