The second hand needles, the tattooed lovers, the overturned grocery cart, the graffitied park, shards of glass, sirens and infertile grime. This is where I live, or just down the street. Vivid and so familiar.
Holy crap PO, that was amazing! I felt like I was with TS Eliot, Charles Bukowski, Ginsberg, but it was YOU. I loved it.
This was your "Howl" into the infinite, from life's beginning, through evolution to the present, as your soul moves through this space, carrying your divine spark into an uncertain future.
For me, b/c I like silver linings, we are these flesh-encased sparks, sparks that go on and on after we've taken off our flesh-clothes before going off gently into that good night. And perhaps that's our beginning and ending after all is said and done. The temporary 3D playground which we're all called back home eventually.
Some real nice lines here and yet they don’t seem to jive with the life presented on IG. There it looks like you’re living in one version of the American dream and in the poem you could be living in Hell’s Kitchen during the crack years. Which one is Erik’s reality?
You have to separate the art from artist. It's a must. Literal eyes kill poetry and literature. This is a metaphor for the times. A walk in the alley of post-modernity. I take pretty pictures on IG. You still don't know me.
The second hand needles, the tattooed lovers, the overturned grocery cart, the graffitied park, shards of glass, sirens and infertile grime. This is where I live, or just down the street. Vivid and so familiar.
"I grow old,
I grow old, with my trousers rolled"
Shades of Prufrock! Love it.
A vivid imagery painted in motion of words - that was a brilliant read! Thank you.
Riveting
Holy crap PO, that was amazing! I felt like I was with TS Eliot, Charles Bukowski, Ginsberg, but it was YOU. I loved it.
This was your "Howl" into the infinite, from life's beginning, through evolution to the present, as your soul moves through this space, carrying your divine spark into an uncertain future.
For me, b/c I like silver linings, we are these flesh-encased sparks, sparks that go on and on after we've taken off our flesh-clothes before going off gently into that good night. And perhaps that's our beginning and ending after all is said and done. The temporary 3D playground which we're all called back home eventually.
Beautifully said, thank you so much!
Some real nice lines here and yet they don’t seem to jive with the life presented on IG. There it looks like you’re living in one version of the American dream and in the poem you could be living in Hell’s Kitchen during the crack years. Which one is Erik’s reality?
You have to separate the art from artist. It's a must. Literal eyes kill poetry and literature. This is a metaphor for the times. A walk in the alley of post-modernity. I take pretty pictures on IG. You still don't know me.
Understood 100%
I lived in Hell’s Kitchen during the crack years. Thought maybe we crossed paths.
Keep it coming.
Anytime brother.
Awesome awesome poet! I have written many poems focused on these topics. Love it!
Thank you my man!
*tips fedora