So the poetry slam was tonight. I didn't perform up to my standards.
By the luck of the draw, I wound up going first. My hands were shaking as I did my poem. It wasn't a good start.
I can tell you this though. I'm hungry for next time. I'm going to bring it.
Anyhow, after the faltering first round, I scrapped my plan and pulled out my best poem. But I was nervous about going over the time limit so I edited it down a bit. People didn't notice, but I did.
Since you weren't there, I'll type down the whole thing right here. I mean, that's not a bad idea is it. I need to get my stuff typed up anyhow.
Call me crazy, if you want.
Call me lazy, if you must.
Call me country, goofy, loopy -
Here I am, dreaming of saying something groovy.
Call me gravy and pour me over everything.
Call me a long tall drink of water, a drop of rain falling to your ocean.
Call me the not unlike the unlikely not I is unlikened to.
Call me Courvosier, falling all over your body.
Call me Guiness, the creamy blackness that knocks you off of your feet.
Call me a tequila sunrise at midnight, call me a bloody Mary in the morning.
Call me vodka, the mixer that wants to get mixed up with you.
Call me a margarita, a whiskey sour, a gin and tonic, a toddy for the body.
Call me the pill, the prescription you need filled, the medicine - no wait -
the mega sin, the mortal sin, the failing failure, the heretic, the anti-Christ, anti-Messiah, anti-rapture,
antecedent to the Myth to the legend to the Scripture, to the Word.
Call me the verb, the bird, the sound, the horn,
the hope of those who can't cry so they scream.
I want to evolve and not revolve,
I want to see and be a part of a big love, a love supreme.
So call me the train, Coltrane, saxophonic winds blowing down the track
coming and coming and coming in sheets of sound
the overwhelming guttural primal sounds
the drums beat
and I want to be at one
with someone or somebody
but I hear a voice calling me Miles
And I know that I'm miles and miles and miles from home
And I'm trying to get back in the black, in the money, making sketches of Spain
with crayons and selling them for a ticket to the seance, to the big dance
because I'm trying to find some kind of Fame!
I want to live forever, I want to learn how to fly.
Now call me Sly
Stone because I want to want to want to
take you higher
Yeah, what I really want is to get you to be down for the upstroke. And so on and so on and Scooby Dooby Doo.
Call me the contrast of brown on brown, black on black, trying to take you back to the ships, to the villages, to the jungles, to the temples, back to the end of time.
So call me the golden one. Hell, call me yellow, call me blue. Put 'em together and green.
Call me clean, call me dirty, call me flirty, call me shy.
Sall me that guy. Call me the damn thing.
Yeah, the damn thing.
You can do me in the morning, you can do me in the night.
Call me in the morning while my voice is still deep, call me a promise you don't know if I'll keep.
Call me the heart of darkness, the question, the answer, the jungle bunny, the funny money, grinning and spinning, shucking and jiving.
Call me the underachiever, the unbeliever, the unborn, unworthy, mongrelization of the races. Call me a big disgrace.
Call me the greatest, call me Cassius, call me Muhammad, call me Malcolm, call me El Haj Malik El Shabazz, Call me tiger, Call me Eldrick, Call me Martin, Call me Shaft, the spade detective, the black private dick whose a sex machine with all the chicks, call me trying to take these chains off of my legs.
Call me the slave, the field hand, the house negro, the uncle dom, call me daddy, call me Mufasa the lion king, call me Hailie Selassie the lion of Judah, Call me the bedouin, the tribesman, the arab, the scarab, the latino, the Italian, the Native American Indian Man, the time traveler travellng time.
Call me September 11, the date, the second, the shock, the moment you thought you caught a chance to grasp the hem of his garment.
Call me the relic, the scrap, the tunic, the toga, the swimsuit, the towel, the do-rag. Call me the collar, the zipper, the rag. Call me the dirty drawers, the granny panties, the silk thong, the blue sarong, singing a brand new song, trying to get next to you.
Call me the highest of the high, the lowest of the low. Call me mediocre, call me the best you ever had.
Call me the way, the day, the hour, the power, the flower, the meat of the plant, the artichoke heart, the celery stick, the sugar cane, the collard greens, dandelion wine. Call me something please.
Call me the corn tortilla, the refried beans, the black olives, the fiery salsa, the spicy guacamole, the hot sauce, burning your lips, making you smile. Call me something sensual and french. Au bon pain, the good pain. No wait - the good bread.
Call me making your bed and lying in it.
Call me something you ain't never seen or felt or smelled before. Call me the mystery, the page-turner turning your pages to get to the good part. Call me the last new thing that you just might have seen before, call me a calming thought, a relaxing need. Call me a farmer planting a seed.
Call me a litany, a fantasy, a libation, a dream, a supplication, a repetition, a mantra, a prayer. A prayer to you.
Call me an insistent prayer that you, my friend, would call me.