Noisemakers – spotted in the sidewalk in front of the former Playboy Mansion on Sunday, 10/12/14, 1340 North State Street, Chicago @ 3:15pm.
This poem was inspired by this pic and is dedicated to all of my friends that have tried to quit…and can’t. You know who you are. I get why.
~oOo~ NOISEMAKERS ~oOo~
Mouth around the synthetic-edged elegance of a sheathed filter,
A crowned flourish to a habit,
Polymerized nicotine INHALE,
Noise waves of a thrill.
And a potential kill.
Mouth around the synthetic-edged joie de vivre of cellulose,
Fancy fringed indulgence,
Polymerized pitched EXHALE,
Shriek-streams to the vibrating tympanic membrane,
Peak emotion of sound initialized,
Noise waves of a thrilly thrill thrill.
The de-construct of things smoke-thick with noise:
One is too deadly,
One is too deafening,
Yet both can be just right.
Surge of rewards befitting the hedonism-prints of noisemakers.
Makers-noise, that hyphen a murky prelude to a precarious choice.
Deafening. Dangerous. Delicious.
Slip it between your succulent lips, baby.
Suck it. Blow it. Get that tip wet and ready,
Draw it in.
Bind that dream to your INhale.
EXhale on your high.
Bridge the sounds of phosphoral yearning,
Turbulent need and sotto voce restraint.
I’m dodging them as I step, still tempted to pick up the inhales where I find them,to get what’s left from their magic, still drawn to and addicted to that dopamine, that everbright noise that’s music to my ears.
And I don’t even smoke.
Only 1 per Neo Night, twice a month, stolen in the alley between
NOIZE! and that really long Sister’s of Mercy song
that drags on for fucking ever and
Bores. Me. To. Death.
Yet I’ll still dance to it. If I’m drunk.
And NOT having a drag.
Yes, I understand that siren-song of Dopamine
Beckoning you to tempt the cancer fate.
That kind of noise you can hear through industrial grade ear plugs.
That kind of noise that bewilders its own paradox,
(Sound) reasoning, (Reasoning) sound,
Such a loud noisemaker.
So how the hell could I ever expect you to quit?!