Improv 1, Week 4

My first improv for this week is a riffs Adrian Matejka's "Seven Days of Falling"

Seven Days of Falling

Today, I'm assimilating like margarine
into hotcakes. I'm getting down

like Danny LaRusso after the against-
the-rules leg sweep. So low,

I'll be a flower in common deceny's
lapel. Factual, the same way "Zanzibar"

means sea of blacks to anyone who isn't
from there. Where is Juan Valdez,

his burroesque dependability when
you need him? I had a friend who minted

t-shirts with Juan front and center,
an afro instead of a sombrero, a power

fist in place of a smile. The inscription:
100% Colmbian. I'm going the way

of skin-radio waves, thoughts
like ear-to-ear transmissions grounded

into the ozone on the way from mindless
space to forgetfull Earth. Man, my skin

doesn't need me any more than mold
needs cheese. On this day of cellophane

lunchboxes and hand grenades reshaping
my palms into their own militaristic orbit,

there are only oceans to catch me.
On this day, someting needs

to catalogue me: a hall monitor
doubled wide by ambition,

a goldfish with thumbs hitchhiking
toward a fishbowl full of dub.


This poem uses a variety of transitional metaphors that mirror the
way the piece moves from idea to idea ("Assimilating like margarine into hotcakes; thoughts like ear-to-ear transmissons, etc"). Thre is a sense of steadily travelling between notions as Matejka presents a sense of the speaker's undergoing a development or transformation throughout the poem. This is what I tried to mimmick with my piece by using figures of current pop-culture and influential elements of my childhood. The choices of imagery depict the type of development experienced by the sepaker. When I finished writing, I was able to see how the my speaker had moved to his/her current state of being by the end of the piece because of the transitions that I used. My poem reflected the way famous people and fads shifted throughout time as well. I believe this same movement in change(that correlates with the poem) is also represented in Matejka's work.


Childhood Deterioration

Today, I'm driving like a nail
into a stake. I'm flipping open

like Janet Jackson after the malfunction
to-rich-for-television. So hot

I'll be an iron rod in a censored road's
rail. Foreign, the same way "Inuyasha"

means Japanimated nerd to anyone who doesn't
watch it. Where is Nick Cannon,

his childish maturtiy when
you seek him? My sister was autographeed by
snared drums with Cannon's blasting and bated beats,
a punchline instead of punchtime, a digital

camera in place of a Polaroid. The shot
100% Kid Nation. I'm marching the way

of juveniles-hand slaps stinging
down red-to-red silk layered

in sweat secreted from thoughtless
dribbles and belittled Street Fighters. Lowly

my toes no longer grip for bedded
sea scales. In this day of

tweets and i-ware wearing down
my identity into their newly designed race,

there are only mountains to release me.
Today, I need

a new tomorrow: Larger than
a Jackson with twice the power,

a forest feline with claws climbing
beyond a dog-dish of ebonics.