a poem

sorry for the lack of posts, but here's a poem i wrote for a new facebook group i started called "neo-dadaists, upper midwest".

un(tit)led

a girl in school once asked me what dada is
but all i could do was laugh

then moments later
a boy in school asked me what i was laughing at
but all i could do was tell him what dada is

he told me i didn't make any sense
(for in truth, all i said was "die kunst ist tot, dada uber alles")
and that my laugh made me seem crazy

at this point i was openly weeping
and i think he got scared
because he left

it wasn't until lunch time in the commons
that a younger boy
(a freshman, i think)
drinking his milk through a straw told me that art was dead

i think he was dissappointed in my reaction
because he frowned when i smiled

i know, i told him, and i helped bury it

the aforementioned school boy and girl
(who were passing our table at the time)
got mad and demanded to know what i meant

about what? i asked

art being dead, they said

i tried to answer
but the way they asked it made me laugh
they left and i got ice cream

they left and i got ice cream
they left and i got ice cream
they left and i got ice cream

i guess that about sums it up

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