the poetry is nothing to fuck with

by Peycho Kanev

Well, let me explain it to you:

the bum on the street, with
the bottle hanging in his maddened
pocket,
stretching his hand to you
is poetry

all the f-male creatures of the night
dressed in cut skirts and sucking
cigarettes in their colored mouths
are poetry

all the girls in the punk clubs
with their anger and their beauty
and their stamina
are poetry

the bombs that fall down in the trenches
and tear up bodies and transform them in pile
pile of useless organic junk
are poetry

the demented men in the madhouses,
strapped to their beds,foaming,cursing,shaking,
their heads full of pills and visions
are poetry

the bars full of quiet,shelterd,beautiful,
little people,staring down at their glasses
full of hopes for something better
are poetry

Hemingway’s shotgun was poetry
the bullet too

the booze is
poetry

the drugs are
poetry

the dead trees
the wasted lands
the knife in your
hand

your girlfriend lying
in the bed

everything and
everyone

is poetry

and at the end
when this world
explodes into the nothing

it will be poetry too

no more
no
less.


*Peycho Kanev is 28 years old and lives in Chicago. His new poetry collection, a collaboration with the poet Felino Soriano and the editor Edward Wells, is out now and can be found at Amazon.com

**I've read a few excerpts from this chap. Enough to say that it is FUCKING AWESOME! --Editor