A found poem created from excerpts taken from Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk
You wake up
You have to go to school
Maybe you’ll go to jail
You wake up
You work a day job
Maybe you should just stay home
You wake up
You do the little job you’re trained to do
Maybe this is where you first wanted anarchy
You wake up
You cry now
This was freedom. Losing all hope was freedom
Summer strikes like the devil’s wrath,
A sweeping and scathing wave of heat,
And the air sticks to the sweat on my neck
As I escape the unstoppable sun.
The next miles bring the joy of autumn and
a tempering of the sun,
With my passing painting the once green trees
the color of blood and of gold and the setting sun,
But as I continue and feel myself fading,
I see the Earth is tiring, too.
The dying grass crunches and scrunches beneath my feet,
leaving a path of brown behind me.
The painted leaves fall to the ground, going the way of the grass,
And before long all is covered by a thin layer of white ash.
The cold bites at my fingers and my toes,
The wind pierces my insulating armor.
Sooner or later, the Earth wakes from its hibernation,
And time seems to reverse,
My heavy and sore feet crush the snow underfoot and clear it with every stride
The greens come back along with the packs
Of animals running by.
As I finish my run and slow to a stop,
I see the seasons still progressing,
For when I am finished and life diminished,
The world will still go on.
Mounted out of the Mighty Miami, son of the Shady Slum City
With greatness and determination, fix the grass
While I work, and thrive in lavish lifestyle from my lawn mower.
Gone goes the grass from Boca Ratón to Boston,
Conquering piece after piece, blade by blade.
Through the land of racist rednecks,
The mighty Jamaican Mexican continues the assault on the ground.
But above the Mason-Dixon lies a challenge like no other:
The Towering trees of Topsfield present a new task at hand.
Some people can’t even stay there during these harsh months,
But who says Caribbean descended people can’t go into the fury.
With the turn of the key to the mower, and success,
My lawn mower only knows how to do one thing: grind.
And grinding gets you greatness, and greatness never stops grinding.
A personal boast in the epic style of Beowulf
Greetings to the opposition / I am the son of Burnis
The great conqueror. / Travelling from the City of Wind
Ages ago, / I arrived in the Fields of Lynn
And struck terror into the hearts of my enemies.
Word moved quickly and soon all knew of my terrific triumphs.
Then, in search of less feeble foes and greater glory,
I went on to the lands of my mother’s brothers
The School of Preparation /in a place called Danvers,
And I brought onto those who’d dare defy me / horror and suffering.
I defeated many in combat / without sword or shield
And subdued any who would wish the shame of defeat on my school and people.
Those who bore witness to the vanquishing / were left in awe.
The people rewarded my deeds, layered me in gold and threw rose petals in my path.
But I know I cannot rest on these laurels
For one enemy / remains undefeated:
Those sloths of the south / from the land called Xaverian
Will soon be brought to their knees. / I will annihilate them
And dab over their lifeless corpses.
Then they will know and remember the name
Roses are red
Oh wait now they are yellow
I just sniffed 10 bags of catnip
And I can’t see straight
My first dance was great, I had a lot of fun
Freshman all dancing, looking for a cute one
And while everyone was getting in the mood
I had no date, so I cried in the bathroom