The Riddler
A Poem by Matt Gillam
he gave me a riddle
I couldn’t solve
a koan a puzzle of pretence
of desire and intent
he touched my arm in the dark drunk bar he
le let me lead him to my house he
let me look as his back was turned he
let me touch his head but not my bed he
licked his words to confuse my verbs
he winked
and he refused
the rubix cube
only a simple square of squares
the trigonometry
only a string of numbers and signs
the labyrinth
only a simple path to the end
and scratched
and gummed
the words
I teethed
on every syllable
his mouth
his words
his charms like the rings
of smoke he blew
through lips that spoke
of paradox
he pulled away
he let his fingers stay he
tied up in my skull
a loop of dumbstruck meditation
the mental masturbation that left my
neurons raw and aching
he bound my hands
so I couldn’t scratch the itch
he showed me a carrot
and beat me with a stick
of false pretence
and a web of lies
the games that only the vicious brutes play
the ones that know love and desire
and use them like pistol whip
-but after I showed him out the door
I thanked him for his time
I’m a sadistic philosopher of kinds
a masochist at heart and mind
his riddle stirred desire
his koan made me bleed
and yet, I love a good riddle
the mysteries that provoke the brain
the puzzles that make this human drama
worth living
the secrets that make us
open
our eyes
and wonder
what in the fuck is this
thing
called life?
Matt Gillam, 20, is finishing his second year at Santa Monica College. Accepted at UC Berkeley for fall admission, he intends to major in philosophy.
December 11th, 2009 at 2:32 am
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