web novels, poetry, prose.
naively i asked, can you trust a master
of words? (of speech sound)
yale men, harvard women, and those not
elite, all trusters of ears
say yes (but what did i expect?)
my mind though, runs to yes
and walks to no, and i, confused by this, yell
yes! at first (to appease myself)
but eventually i say babble should not be
examined by the babbler, i am young, ask the elders
naively i ask, can i trust the elders, who are they?
of whom are they?
this took four winters
do you melt, taste your poem
as little as i?
this morning i found myself
talking to my pillow, seriously!
i told it, stop it! be still
let me hold you for a bit
like Bukowski or something
when there’s no beer in the fridge
sometimes i think
the poets are just
so afraid
too afraid
to write the book
to bleed for that long
most times i think
they tell themselves
they don’t have enough time
i’m rushing, speeding
hopping, home
past red lights aplenty
i don’t have enough time
i don’t have enough time
my fingers are wet
the water has broke
in this one moment
in this delivery
i’m not afraid
of these red lights
of these safeguards
i’m not afraid
of these demands
to touch my face
to walk these lines
in this one moment
i am limitless
infinite
i am not afraid
i wake up and find
another still-born birth
someone at the bar
told me that
on her fifth marriage
she’d finally learnt
how to be a good mother
i asked her how
(she didn’t know it
i’m desperate)
she pulled me in
close
told me you just have to stop
stop being so drunk
she told me that
it thins blood
but after
after taking the piss
long enough
you find it
suffocates the home
the children
she told me to trust her
after all
she was on her sixth marriage
i asked her how
how she’d stopped
remembering failed marriages
how’d she’d learnt
to caress babies
with dry
shaking hands
how’d she’d stopped
being so afraid
too afraid
of lines and stop signs
she told me she hasn’t
you don’t
you just stop being so drunk
and give yourself enough time
vowels are speech sounds
created by
so i figured
if i say
if i voluntarily serve
three consecutive life sentences
it’ll be like gambling
like risking it all
on finally finding freedom
in prison
these words
these words will not
for just a little bit
i’m not trying to
this reality
quite the opposite
i don’t write of
unless the occasions calls for it of course
i don’t write of
i write truths
i simply observe
and word my truths
trying anyways
i can’t help it
that i like
but believe me i write
that these truths are hard
trying anyways
if that’s too much to take in
to swallow, just remember that
these words
these hard words, will not
hold you up
quite the opposite
they’ll tear you down
just remember that
i’m not trying to romance you
i’m trying to slap you
or better yet, choke you
…with these words
1.
i stand by the park-bench under the tree
and with my neck craned up
i close-watch prideful birds
inhale till they swell
i watch them hop around
in their restless happiness
i watch them flock
in their jubilance
i watch them take beak to wing
and peck those bothersome things
off, once and for all
after all, what use are they?
their eyes peep something’s wrong
but, “fuck it” they tweet
you only live once
look at the weather!
2.
and as i stand
still by the park-bench under the tree
i lower my head a bit
and can’t help but think
these birds are all-right
and i don’t enjoy this enough
so i throw away my oculars
i’d made my decision
i’d join this jubilee!
3.
hey, did you know that
in the time it takes a birdwatcher
to sit on a park-bench under a tree
to lift their head in harmony
you can hear tree branches break?
dear Myself
famous poet is an oxymoron
safe sex was too, until recently
and I know there’s no such thing as safe sex
so what does that say about Me?
from You, a little more safe
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