Saturday, April 11, 2009

WRITING SENTENCES


Those sentences 
held no meaning
save to induce
punishment, they
were meant to make 
us change ourselves,
inscribe some
awareness of 
our sins.  500 times.
Our hands clenched 
the Bic pens to
punish the college-
rule paper, inflicting
pools of ink in 
the Appollinaire-like
rain of words forming, 
always the syntax 
was declarative,  
I WILL NOT ....
as if to inculcate
good behavior 
through repetition.
The expectation 
that grammar would 
foster grace even
though as the hand
wearied, the sentences 
cascaded, forming 
a waterfall of  illegible
letters, bunched cursive, 
promises never 
meant to be kept:
I will not talk in class
I will not throw spitwads
I will not horse around in the lunch line
everyday misdemeanors
recorded in multiple
scribbles, discipline
administered and
producing pages 
of punitive grammar,
empty cages 
of time spent
begrudging the
written word 
and fantasies 
of eradicating
the world of 
"themes" and "compositions"
and eighth grade
books handed down
from World War II
by grabbing three
pens in one's hand
and scrawling one's
cleverness while 
confessing one's sins
about talking 
in choir, thankful,
in the end, that
a more crafty 
and complex or 
compound or 
compound-complex 
penalty was never
imposed: 

"Upon further reflection I understand 
that throwing spitwads at Randy Orwig
is not only  a violation of  school rules 
but also a humiliating act that I would 
never want returned upon me and, therefore, 
I vow to check my conscience before I 
chew dirty, filthy  scraps of paper into wet blobs 
and shoot them out the straws I stole from the 
cafeteria, and, further, I vow to forever behave 
in Mrs. Garvelink's class as well, which includes 
refraining from setting thick wax crayons on 
the steam pipes so that they melt into rich pools 
of color and fill the classroom up with a horrible 
stench,and also to stop talking out of turn and 
talking in smart-mouthed fashion."   

...sentences, which, 
if scrawled 500 times, 
certainly would have 
crushed our desire 
to craft primer prose 
and would have made 
penitent philosophers 
out of every petty 
lawbreaker, punk 
miscreant and
rude delinquent 
son of a bitch.  

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