Tuesday, April 13, 2010

this week

(has been)
a split fingernail
(or horizontal cross-section in layers).
this week is plucking hairs from
brow, peak,
& burn.
this week is
slithering down into the empty space
between the chair's legs.
i can't quite touch down.
the thrusters are going
& going but i just can't land. throw me
an anchor or something.
i just want to see in something
other than sewer vision (like
tunnel vision but far worse).

the storm
is stumbling in along
the (montauk) point.

i can't complain
because i think
(not too) long ago
i would have just been dead. i think that some lines should jut out
& puncture the space on the page
(let it bleed out, the ink that is).
you remain
when the trade
is voodoo & the medium
is language. i think i'm just out
of words. is that possible?
i talk a lot.
either way my creative license seems to
have expired (get it, a joke!).
i'm just

two or three (or something)
more weeks until my
campaign at wake forest is
over. that's not scary.

i just want to
i just want to
be forgotten.

jesus, this hurts.
if i recall correctly. that halo
you slapped on my
head (over my hair, folding
& reserved)
was makeshift
& from those
fluorescent bulbs
leftover from
the house we built. that must be why
i'm covered in
glass (dust).
surely, that's why.

times (like these)
remind me that
sometimes joints
& bones & (small)
muscles aren't enough to
move you. sometimes
it's birds & syntax &
profundity. but not
even those can help
when your pancaked against
the ground
& the entity (that urges
your flattening) is unknown. like
an angel peeling feathers
off &
inching them down your
throat. it
is paralyzing.
& you don't know what to do
when your voice & limbs
go numb. i
don't. i sure
as hell

"i'll give you something
that no ones gonna' give you;
my sleeping skin
& my heart deep down in you.
i'll never tell you
but you're my little scar.
goodbyes are hard &
they're hard
& they're hard. "
[land of talk] "it's okay"

poem: "vespers [in your extended absence you granted me...]" by louise gluck
"I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots
like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart
broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly
multiplying in the rows."

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