vapors push up through
the ground like fingers and hateful little
leaves change direction and intersect
clicking at my shins with tiny mouse teeth
soldier boot vodka sinks through
disturbing something rolling in its sleep
and I can’t stop falling down
and I can’t stop falling down
the empty streets I weave through
when I've had too much to think
and bushes slouch like lepers and I startle
at cats and shadows of cats
2009, but from really old notes (2005?)
Monday, April 27, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The Lobsters in the Walls
careful with mom's glasses
she has a bad cold
and if she doesn't wear them
she won't be able to see the lobsters in the walls
they will come out from their secret doors
and crack all her bones with their claws
and scoop the insides out with the thin spoons
that only lobsters can use
the little bottles beside her bed
are so that she can shake them at the lobsters
and lobsters are so scared of rattlesnakes
that they will drop their spoons and run
and the house will echo with the sound
of little legs clicking and tripping
and a thousand tiny spoons
tumbling down the stairs
the men in white coats are lobster scientists
they are going to build an ocean
in our basement and a tiny moon
on top of the water heater
so that we can have tides
and then all the lobsters will come out of the walls
and live there with jellyfish umbrellas
and wear whatever fish is most fashionable
that's when the lobster scientists send in the divers
with lobster guns
a red octopus took her hair to eat it
under his porch in the ocean
because that is all that red octopuses eat
but first he probably rolled around in it
because it reminded him of seaweed
and his red babies who are all gone now
it was probably that octopus who told the lobsters
where we live and drew a map
octopuses are very good at maps
dad only cries sometimes
because mom hasn't been making food
and he hasn't had hardly anything to eat
also he doesn't like her hats
even though the green one is really pretty
and maybe he is scared of the lobsters too
stop holding mom's glasses so tight
you're going to break them
and you are getting tears on them
you don't have to worry about it
because if you hear any lobsters in the walls
just cover your ears and look away
lobsters hate to be ignored
that is their only weakness
So, I just finished my essay and wrote a bunch of drivel to celebrate. This one was my favourite of the bunch.
she has a bad cold
and if she doesn't wear them
she won't be able to see the lobsters in the walls
they will come out from their secret doors
and crack all her bones with their claws
and scoop the insides out with the thin spoons
that only lobsters can use
the little bottles beside her bed
are so that she can shake them at the lobsters
and lobsters are so scared of rattlesnakes
that they will drop their spoons and run
and the house will echo with the sound
of little legs clicking and tripping
and a thousand tiny spoons
tumbling down the stairs
the men in white coats are lobster scientists
they are going to build an ocean
in our basement and a tiny moon
on top of the water heater
so that we can have tides
and then all the lobsters will come out of the walls
and live there with jellyfish umbrellas
and wear whatever fish is most fashionable
that's when the lobster scientists send in the divers
with lobster guns
a red octopus took her hair to eat it
under his porch in the ocean
because that is all that red octopuses eat
but first he probably rolled around in it
because it reminded him of seaweed
and his red babies who are all gone now
it was probably that octopus who told the lobsters
where we live and drew a map
octopuses are very good at maps
dad only cries sometimes
because mom hasn't been making food
and he hasn't had hardly anything to eat
also he doesn't like her hats
even though the green one is really pretty
and maybe he is scared of the lobsters too
stop holding mom's glasses so tight
you're going to break them
and you are getting tears on them
you don't have to worry about it
because if you hear any lobsters in the walls
just cover your ears and look away
lobsters hate to be ignored
that is their only weakness
So, I just finished my essay and wrote a bunch of drivel to celebrate. This one was my favourite of the bunch.
I've Seen Enough Movies
I’ve seen enough movies
To know what to say,
When a girl says,
“I love you.”
But I envy the actors
Who thumb through their lines
Before they commit
To the role.
I like this one. 2006.
To know what to say,
When a girl says,
“I love you.”
But I envy the actors
Who thumb through their lines
Before they commit
To the role.
I like this one. 2006.
Limerick #10
There once was a peasant named Clyde,
Whose clothes were so drab that he cried.
His dirty grey garment,
Made him so despondent,
That one day, he just. . .dyed.
I love this one. I wrote it for a friend in two minutes back in, say, 2006?
Whose clothes were so drab that he cried.
His dirty grey garment,
Made him so despondent,
That one day, he just. . .dyed.
I love this one. I wrote it for a friend in two minutes back in, say, 2006?
Myxoma
If the wheel of rebirth be so kind,
Grant that I may be return as the tumor nearest your heart,
Hungry and wet like sex-slicked fingers,
To keep you warm as you grow cold.
2006?
Grant that I may be return as the tumor nearest your heart,
Hungry and wet like sex-slicked fingers,
To keep you warm as you grow cold.
2006?
The Last of the Night
Extensively pensive I mused on the night,
When the blight of the sleeper slow-creeped into sight,
To blister and blast the eyes I held tight.
Oh, how I hate morning light.
So bind the blinds and follow the fight--
My respite is removing! I’ll shut in the night!
Spiteful and trite, I watch it breath bright.
Oh, how I hate, how I hate morning light.
This one's old. 2005, I think. It's a shitty poem, but I wrote it all in anapaest meter and was inordinately proud as a result. The pride endures.
When the blight of the sleeper slow-creeped into sight,
To blister and blast the eyes I held tight.
Oh, how I hate morning light.
So bind the blinds and follow the fight--
My respite is removing! I’ll shut in the night!
Spiteful and trite, I watch it breath bright.
Oh, how I hate, how I hate morning light.
This one's old. 2005, I think. It's a shitty poem, but I wrote it all in anapaest meter and was inordinately proud as a result. The pride endures.
Expulsion
I’ve alphabetized my bookshelf,
learned the foxtrot and the tango,
been taught fifty-three words in Chinese,
and my room has never been cleaner.
I’ve been drunk for two weeks,
—twenty plus shots most nights—
won a painting of a tiger in an arm-wrestling contest,
and danced with the most beautiful girl.
I’ve talked to my parents,
Dad called me an ass,
warned me not to tell anyone.
But Mom just cried.
I’m looking at the wet faces on this bus,
kids left for too long in the rain,
bent double under the weight of forty pounds
of books and notes and planners.
My backpack hardly weighs anything:
Just a fifth of rum,
some thin readmission forms,
and a coupon for a haircut.
2007?
learned the foxtrot and the tango,
been taught fifty-three words in Chinese,
and my room has never been cleaner.
I’ve been drunk for two weeks,
—twenty plus shots most nights—
won a painting of a tiger in an arm-wrestling contest,
and danced with the most beautiful girl.
I’ve talked to my parents,
Dad called me an ass,
warned me not to tell anyone.
But Mom just cried.
I’m looking at the wet faces on this bus,
kids left for too long in the rain,
bent double under the weight of forty pounds
of books and notes and planners.
My backpack hardly weighs anything:
Just a fifth of rum,
some thin readmission forms,
and a coupon for a haircut.
2007?
Testicles
In a clinic by the tracks, a man with a white lab coat
calls it cryptorchidism,
and tucks his clipboard back under his arm, like a bat wing.
An undescended testicle.
A terrible thing.
Just a lopsided sac, half-full of empty.
One ball for all.
Now I’ll never win a competition.
There are things called neuticles—fake testicles.
He can take some measurements today,
and order a replacement in exactly the same size.
Of course, they can’t guarantee the roundness, firmness.
The judges would definitely notice that.
There is a procedure that uses a scalpel
to coax the prodigal orb alongside its brother.
It only takes ten minutes,
but the Board strictly condemns this practice
as barbaric.
With a smooth hand on my shoulder, he is sorry.
The best he can do is an excision of both testicles.
Fuck.
With that, I look down at my Bluetick Coonhound,
Purebred, AKC registered.
His lineage lists a number of champions.
But his huge eyes are unaware of this,
—Just as they are unaware of the deformity under his tail—
And he licks my hand, eager to be at home playing puppy games.
2008.
calls it cryptorchidism,
and tucks his clipboard back under his arm, like a bat wing.
An undescended testicle.
A terrible thing.
Just a lopsided sac, half-full of empty.
One ball for all.
Now I’ll never win a competition.
There are things called neuticles—fake testicles.
He can take some measurements today,
and order a replacement in exactly the same size.
Of course, they can’t guarantee the roundness, firmness.
The judges would definitely notice that.
There is a procedure that uses a scalpel
to coax the prodigal orb alongside its brother.
It only takes ten minutes,
but the Board strictly condemns this practice
as barbaric.
With a smooth hand on my shoulder, he is sorry.
The best he can do is an excision of both testicles.
Fuck.
With that, I look down at my Bluetick Coonhound,
Purebred, AKC registered.
His lineage lists a number of champions.
But his huge eyes are unaware of this,
—Just as they are unaware of the deformity under his tail—
And he licks my hand, eager to be at home playing puppy games.
2008.
ants
cold air is thin in my lungs
waking up before dawn
dead ants across my face
sat up slowly carefully
wiped their dead queen from my eye
had eggs for breakfast
I remember this morning. 2006 or 07.
waking up before dawn
dead ants across my face
sat up slowly carefully
wiped their dead queen from my eye
had eggs for breakfast
I remember this morning. 2006 or 07.
Hush
something is moving in the darkness
a big broken thing
its body like a bruise
its face like a needle
it crouches in sunless rooms
and blinks at red lights
it must wait itself to sleep each night
the bleeding never stops
dying seems to take a lifetime
but it is very patient
it has a tongue but only barely
and no words pass over it
there is only hush and gasp
listen closer
something is moving in the darkness
it rests on its knuckles
as it opens its mouth
wider and wider
I wrote this last night, from old notes. It needs polish, but I like it. Buddha knows we need more horror poetry in the world.
a big broken thing
its body like a bruise
its face like a needle
it crouches in sunless rooms
and blinks at red lights
it must wait itself to sleep each night
the bleeding never stops
dying seems to take a lifetime
but it is very patient
it has a tongue but only barely
and no words pass over it
there is only hush and gasp
listen closer
something is moving in the darkness
it rests on its knuckles
as it opens its mouth
wider and wider
I wrote this last night, from old notes. It needs polish, but I like it. Buddha knows we need more horror poetry in the world.
Just a Note
My hard drive gave up the ghost in 2007 when I tried to take it home for the summer. A boy needs his porn, after all. When I hooked it back up, I found that it was dead. The airport baggage handlers were incompetent apes, and my hard drive was dead. The ghost was not in the machine.
Yesterday, I attempted the impossible. No noble reason, I just felt that frustration was better than boredom. So, in the spirit of everyone who has ever tried to lick their elbow or put a key back on a laptop keyboard, I tried my hard drive again.
And fuck me sideways but it worked. Holy clamchop.
So, I got all my old poems back. I forgot about them immediately, as I was reunited with the porn of my youth. But when I returned from my filthy revelry, I decided that I never wanted to lose them again. Never ever.
I also decided the same thing for the poems. And so I am posting them here, because the internet is the most immortal thing I know.
Yesterday, I attempted the impossible. No noble reason, I just felt that frustration was better than boredom. So, in the spirit of everyone who has ever tried to lick their elbow or put a key back on a laptop keyboard, I tried my hard drive again.
And fuck me sideways but it worked. Holy clamchop.
So, I got all my old poems back. I forgot about them immediately, as I was reunited with the porn of my youth. But when I returned from my filthy revelry, I decided that I never wanted to lose them again. Never ever.
I also decided the same thing for the poems. And so I am posting them here, because the internet is the most immortal thing I know.
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