Here's To Writing a Poem on the Thirteenth of Every Month For an Entire Year, But Knowing I'd Never Remember All That

HERE’S TO WRITING A POEM ON THE 13TH OF EVERY MONTH FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR, BUT KNOWING I’D NEVER REMEMBER ALL THAT…

(For Carl Jung)


Taboos are like bongos;
you find the beat
you like the most,
then eventually discard them
in a pawn shop
on Greenmount Avenue,
hoping they’ll materialize
into beautiful rivers
on a Baltimore Street Arab’s ebony face.

Taboos were always meant
to sprout black pearls
deep in the fertile souls
of humans.

All this elaborate masquerading of taboos
typically makes me hungry
and, sometimes, makes my soul
resemble a barracuda
trolling the dark shifting floor
of our mythical collective unconscious.


Alan Britt

Posted over on Strange Road