Wednesday, October 01, 2003

My very good friend, the UP poet Vincent Coscolluela whom we all call Cos, has written a new poem titled "Why I Never Go to Discos," which I am totally in love with. It's a departure from his earlier works (which were already quite heady, I tell you). This poem is part of my second book, FutureShock Poetry: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures, which is the second volume of an anthology I am working on now (the first one was nominated -- surprisingly -- for Best Anthology in the 2003 National Book Awards!). So, without even asking for his permission, I am posting this poem in my blog. Why? Because it rocks!



         Why I Never Go To Discos



         I don’t know how to dance, and the language

         of moving bodies has never been

         my specialty. Instead I like to pair up words

         and look them up. Today

         I googled God and found

         42,700,000 matches, Freud among them.

         Freud? Freud says cigarettes

         should remind us of penises, and if so

         no wonder many people smoke at discos.

         Like you, I go out at night sometimes

         but it is to take long walks

         to see lights of a non-fluorescent kind.

         Did you know in the Discovery Channel

         they’re making fluorescent mice?

         They’re patented even, since scientists

         created them. Something in the genes, and yes,

         when they make love, they have fluorescent

         babies. The mice of course, not the scientists.

         I once wrote my name and number

         at the back of a bus, but nobody called.

         I blamed my handwriting all week.

         Do you mind if I say

         make love instead of have sex?

         Do you mind? I don’t smoke

         and my penis is small, but

         I make great pancakes and am often kind

         especially on Sundays. Despite

         my loneliness I have my ways

         and will only kiss you if it rains.



Love it. Love it. Love it.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

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