The last few days I have been meditating on an issue. Its an issue that most likely I am the only one with my mouth open where dubious questions take each opportunity to fly in and revolutionize my mind. But, I was at a poetry reading the other day. Let me repeat I was AT the poetry reading. However, AT times I checked out because I was trying to make sense of this issue that I have. I slid in and out of base, consciousness being first base and subconsciousness being second base. Opposite of the rules of the game of baseball I was desperately trying to get tagged out. Becoming uncomfortable as the grains of dirt started to pile inside my head I tried to dig as fast as I possible, shoveling the dirt out of my ears. I sat there listening to the poet first give a five minute diatribe on what the poem he was about to recite was about. Then he preceded to recite a poem about a poet that had not yet written about a poem about poet who wrote a poem about a poem that was, to him, not a poem, but a haiku, which neither contained five or seven syllables or paid homage to Mother Nature.

A question mark appeared above my head smashing the light bulb to shards of glass mid mental stride while chasing the baseball that I hope would put me out of misery. I attended this event because a English Professor I happened to meet incoincidentally invited me because she believed that it was a more literary poetry reading opposed to those "rap guys" rendition of poetry. She was referring to Slam Poetry. But, I was extremely disappointed. Today, it seems that poets desire to be on stage for their quirky whit slash humor. I figure if they want to be a comedian they could go try out for "Last Comic Standing." I do enjoy literary puzzle pieces with jokes on them from time to time, but the whole poem as a joke has me a slightly confused. And yet another thing that I don't understand, but I want to make sense of.