Dante and the Black Mags, Black Mags.

Here she is, the latest poem, and expect another one tomorrow. Until then, you can also find the new Cool Kids mixtape here titled 'That's Stupid!'.

Also, it's happening; the moment we've been desiring, the reissueing! Radiohead's albums are being reissued on vinyl, and are available for preorder. I have Kid A in my shopping cart as we speak. I am a click away from fulfilling my vinyl dreams.

Gotta collect 'em all, but who has that sort of dough?

Well, except you, (Pablo) Honey; I don't need you. I thought we talked about this. C'mon, don't do this, honey... Pablo, deary, it's gonna be okay. I have your used CD, isn't that enough for you? It's never been enough, has it? Fine, fine, I'll consider it, creep, but I can't make any promises.

Kid A, baby, you know where my heart truly is.

And now, the poem. And, for your delight, I have another practically finished that I'll post tomorrow night (most likely). I'll post it sooner if you purchase all of the Radiohead LPs for me. Yes, definitely. Also, pardon my crazy poetry. I'm not sure why I bought in Dante and an old, old Pope at the last moment. Oh boy...

“A Roast to Pope Benedict IX and Bicycle Rides”

I’m riding my bike
and forgetting
the simple serene nature
of everything

of campfires, caves and rock climbing
if you don’t mind, those are my marshmallows
that I’m roasting.

of simony and staying in Dante’s Inferno for eternity
if you don’t mind, those are my dark woodlands
that I’m burning.

Oh, was that you?
Only children
aren’t used to sharing
the silent sunlight
on the gravel road
up a mountain.

I’m the kid that storms ahead
stops
waits for you to catch up
then
gets carried away again.

And these kids stop
down a one-way alley
in the country
where the weeds blow
in the evening wind
and they pile out of Chevrolets
with yellow country teeth
&
red farmers’ skin
to drink
&
carry on
before the moment’s gone

And it is.

You don’t understand;
I hate my life
and I don’t see you in it
and I wish I couldn’t see me in it

But I am.

I’m a bigger misanthrope
than the 147th pope
and I’m bigger in Japan
than a nun’s two hands
around your throat.

Don’t worry;
This is only how I feel
when my eyes are closed
on a cool coast in Baltimore into a warm bay below.