Hindsight offers a lot of opportunities at excuses and what ifs, but it happened and cannot be changed. She and I are, by her choice, no longer on speaking terms. This day finds me thinking in terms of rituals that probably have no real meaning. So finding a narrow part of the Scioto River to throw a tarnished piece of silver across is of mixed metaphor and a pathetic stunt at best. Closure is a myth.
Last night was another IWPS qualifying slam at Writers' Block. Twelve poets took part and round one was close. I'm not sure if I was tied for seventh, eighth, or ninth. All I knew is that I was going 11th in round two. The one minute round.
One minute poems are a necessary evil of slam. Every slammer worth their salt onstage should have a few of them to rely on. It's like learning trigonometry in high school. As the teacher said, "You never know when you're going to need it on the Subway."
Such is the one minute poem. It's tough. It's quick. But it's a tool the good poet needs.
Scores in round two were once again weirdly consistent, and very tight. Had a feeling I could jump up the ladder with a high score. Did a poem I've been holding onto for this moment. It was inspired by an item in a friend's memory box, and essentially wrote itself in a thread on Live Journal. Went up and did it. Knocked it out well enough to get the highest score of the night (29.2) and vaulted up the standings like Beamon at the '68 Olympics to finish in second place.
All I'll say is that the poem is related to the image above and that I have forever changed the way many people in Kafe Kerouac think about said image.
Congratulations to Dain for winning the slam and Atticus for coming in third. Hot action all around!
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