The Kenosha Kid & Spin Song by P. Chatelain


Phillipe Martin Chatelain is the founder of In Parentheses and a poet from New York City with a Master’s Degree in Poetry from The New School. He writes as someone in the tradition of the urban troubadour or the flaneur–wandering, taking notes. He believes that poetry of our generation has taking on a much more digital definition. His series taking shots alone was self published in 2012-2015. (@uptownvoice)

The Kenosha Kid

catch this B where the honeys be,
yikes is this me, “Lost Cosby“
now ask the press to release me
while I’m buzzing
release me like feed
release me through fruit seeds
call me prehistoric
call me anthropomorphic
am I worth four sticks
arrange them in a manner that catches your
wumbo
is this the way a meme is created
is this the way the dream was cremated
is it still American or should I start writing
poems ignoring adjectives.
i should really edit a poem as I’m hatching it. i should prevent my poems from acting like
matching kin, twins.
loose morals and a loose de nition of sin, that’s
the act we live.
is it too much to ask when I be asking
“can you catch me, Kenosha Kid?”
are you floating on a different globe?
catch this current through an open nose, now get
fixed.
don’t be lost as what happens switches.
if you think a minutes fast, then you haven’t been
listening.
trust me I just want you spinning:

now are we lost or are we winning?
what’s the difference if the mission is more than
forward motion–
(is it true that I got the FBI breathing down my
webpage or is that just something I could say that would make me sound thug?)

Spin Song

(verse 1)

catch me on the web
catch me on the net
spin i tell you spin and capture

what’re you, a mix of fortune and mischief?
what’re you, a form of resistance & existence?

find your own answers on the net
google search:
whats it like to kick it with a spider?
rather find a spider to kick it with.

split this eight ways,
one for each part of yourself you keep hidden—
each you hides with the flesh it devours

like wildfire
leaving no trace no clue no imprint
of your silk
no evidence that with your velvety twine
you paralyze and kill

(verse 2)

if you’re not spinning by now don’t be alarmed
you may have collapsed into a singularity
you now make up all the mass at the center

who knew your web was this strong
it drags and pulls at will
and warms up under this pressure.
the most alarming part is what gets caught:

what sticks
what grows you
what escapes…

but what of your poison?
has a guest been welcomed with a tainted kiss
until they felt their lungs constrict?
a struggle as they stiffen,
mistaken bites can’t be taken lightly
reading too much into the bitters

(verse 3)

caught on what you’re spinning in the night
sprinkle dew before your morning meal

watch me digitize

are you rushing for a reason?
just spin your normal speed
who’s world is this

if you
can’t recognize it
any
more

These poems were previously featured in Volume 4: Issue 2 (Summer 2016) of In Parentheses. On sale now.

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