this is not an admission of guilt

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I am a huge fan of poetry: writing it, reading it, speaking it. I am also a huge fan of AMC’s Breaking Bad: the characters, the plot, the chaos. Knowing this, there is not much better than a combination of those two things. Several months ago I came across a found poetry contest that required me to create a found poem using the script of Breaking Bad’s pilot episode. If you have seen the show, or even if you haven’t, I recommend reading this. The way it is written adds so much to the show and really allows you to see how it was imagined, and then (watching the actual episode) how that came to life. I didn’t win or anything, but here is my found poem from this contest:

Deep blue sky overhead,
fat, scuddy clouds.
A bit out of place, to say the least.
A rooster tail of red dirt
spraying –
glinting hard in the sun.
70’s era Winnebago with
chalky white paint and Bondo spots –
its paint peels off like sunburned skin.

They cycle. Solution, dissolution, over and over.
It’s a lonesome tableau;
she blows smoke toward the ceiling,
he drops his eyes first.
It’s way down deep, but it glows inside him
a beat,
wide greenbets and dark magnolias,
not at all noteworthy.

There are tiny curls of red smoke,
rising thick and dark,
swollen like a balloon –
you. You and me.
No adulterants. No baby formula.
No chili powder.
His mask fogs up until finally he can’t see
realizing more and more,
he likes it –
chemistry: the study of change.

It’s probably absolutely nothing.
Best case scenario – another two years
it’s just
you’ve got mustard on your…
there.
Long, pregnant silence –
a vast and complex concrete knot,
as if being swallowed.

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