“I Like My Own Poems,” by Jack Grapes
I like my own poems best. I quote from them from time to time saying, “A poet once said,” and then follow up with a line or two from one of my own poems appropriate to the event. How those lines sing! All that wisdom and beauty! Why it tickles my ass off its spine. “Why those lines are mine!” I say and Jesus, what a bang I get out of it. I like the ideas in them, my poems, ideas that hit home. They speak to me. I mean, I understand what the hell the damn poet’s talking about. “Why I’ve been there, the same thing,” I shout, and Christ! What a shot it is, a shot. And hey, The words! Whew! I can hardly stand it. Words sure do not fail this guy, I say. From some world only he knows he bangs the bong, but I can feel it in the wood, in the wood of the word, rising to its form in the world. “Now, you gotta be good to do that!” I say and damn! It just shakes my heart, you know!
