Don't Talk About Fight Club (but poems...)
Revolutions in our midst:
Durden blessed as Durden kissed
escapades from the edge.
Whilst moved by Rally’s Chopper
Wielding club. Wielding gown.
Wielding pink to unite waggish crowds.
A hit. A break.
The clarity of glass shattered
Indiscriminate balls smacked deep
Into culture. Into mist.
Paper Street philosophy,
and a kiss from Durden’s bliss
to fight sorrow’s apathy.
A fight for instinct. A fight for life,
a fight to be who we are today.
Without boundaries, inhibitions,
cages, or plights.
Durden’s cultured hug. Durden’s cultured kiss.
Amused our mind
and by tongue.
Now what the fucks that other guy’s name?
Tyler’s alter ego . . .
Something, something, clown.
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