does not make me
the necessary scapegoat;
bleat bleat bleat:
scapegoat.
Get it?
This is just because
I cannot bear
the weight of the world
any more today,
or tomorrow;
no more savior-savior girl:
ja chegó.
Your words are your drive-by
with all the good ones I soak up
like syrup to a pancake;
only a drive-by
and I am 'Fiddy,
shot nine times
with sound;
no more drive-by;
run-by;
walk-by;
fck-by;
clean-by;
mantra-by;
charge-by;
Endless, infinite, solitary walk until
breathing, gasping time,
with sound;
no more drive-by;
run-by;
walk-by;
fck-by;
clean-by;
mantra-by;
charge-by;
Endless, infinite, solitary walk until
breathing, gasping time,
until ha;
until hi;
until hai;
ha...ha...haines
. . .
so look, she says:
pretending to help
is not actual help,
is it?
what are you to me, i say:
a friend? she says,
and icy bukowski overwhelms
just as dropping voldemort sends shivers
i am over-some but more-so, overcome
and then i disappeared from you
like a little bird
who never got to call you mama
me feeling like (child)
(most obviously)
does not give one
the right to rape
child-like qualities-
every breath
maximizes its memory
or lucid nightmare;
my words are here,
and as i was told 'better out than in'
and i make ill-crafted poems
that could pass as disjointed prose
neglect to be-(a)ware(s) of my awareness
of that which is.was.willbe
good
this inner battle manifests!
and i lose to me,
destroyed//;
no such thing as
commitment, for us, my sweets,
is there?
commie-itment
commie-hitment
commie-hit-men-t
com-hit-me-n-t---
'no such thing, in my world';;
half of me says
intelligence, in spurts,
death to trust
soft goes hard
and warm goes icy,
surprise!
. . .
I am trying to be blind to it;
the frailty of the heart
as juxtaposed to life's potential
and beauty's
and stories I've been told:
ive been suspicious all along,
and letting you love on me was
a silent shout
to please-please
let me, along with her, so frail,
give up and rest-ed
give up and rest-ed;
Oh, Pup!
Oh, Papa.
Pup
Pub
Pap
Papa
Baby Papa
(hush)
(no)
Papa-Mama
. . .
kavorkian, when cavorting, the caveat is,
was both grim reaper and
oregonian angel: pick your side
pretend to defend
and protect and divine
oh the controversy!
but in a world where alive means dead
and vice versa,
and your saint is a zombie
or doesn't even exist,
or
hovering, might as well not,
what choice does
papa-mama-sister-friend
have?
or daughter, too.
pulse:
i am eirik
beat:
i am erik
breath:
i am derek
arrest:
i am erika
regurgitate:
i am erik a
upchuck:
i am eric
steady:
i am erica
pulse:
i am r-ka
murmer, flutter:
i am baby haines
palpitate:
i am e
where do all the typos
life's tiny rushed misinterpretations go,
to the landfill?
it's compost.
beat:
i remember people who cause me pain because
without them my story would flatline,
iron iorn i earn
irony:
i had the deepest love for someone who i watched love someone else
and i grew up like this, watching things disappear and not realizing i had a voice
audible to anyone but an angel-mother i shared a heartbeat with;
still, sometimes, in my dreams, i still do.
and it happened again!
love destroys!
and it is all we live for!
why?!
--i just mean,
i do
remember love in fields of golden barley
i do
remember you amongst the flowers
i do
remember love under the orange tree
i do
remember you beneath the wisteria
and i think i imagine it!
isn't it sad!
and when i say it's love,
because someone better will take you
has, and deserved you;
i resort to work.
until my only deficit is to attention,
hyperactive;
now focus:
how small and ant-like, this agony,
(ant-agony)
just to have someone read, attend
this string of thought, fully;
and the feeling i feel when
I let them fall away to everyone but me,
having satisfied their scroll,
going up, going down;
their modern romp (!)
scattered,
like birdseed,
ashes,
irrevocable
our holocaust]]
hollow-cast:
and call it what you will;
writing is an attempt to disappear;
networking its polar opposite.
i willed good, got evil.
i willed evil, got good.
as usual, i cannot see the results.
ponder this:
if i didnt make this a poem, indent, patternize, groom it
you might understand it better.
so take things: my words,
my milk,
if you are indeed my baby, oh baby!
then ponder this:
if i feel asleep by you
and hints of a child crawled out of me or you in the night,
and it somehow got away, would it ever come to find me or you
and what would i say
and what would you?
a hug in a closet did not make the greenhouse appear,
your nurtured torment torments even your own reality,
because i told you the things that would make me happy.
hope that helps you,
cause i am so confused
about everything
about whether you want me
and why
am choked
am bullied
am laked
am sandwiched
am swiped
am spent.
if it makes no sense that's because there is no need for it to
if this is a penance, i am not sure what i would be paying for
except maybe gratitude, creativity, friendship, love, and joy.
other half come
come come come
back
i am small again
eyes are closing
come back
until hi;
until hai;
ha...ha...haines
. . .
so look, she says:
pretending to help
is not actual help,
is it?
what are you to me, i say:
a friend? she says,
and icy bukowski overwhelms
just as dropping voldemort sends shivers
i am over-some but more-so, overcome
and then i disappeared from you
like a little bird
who never got to call you mama
me feeling like (child)
(most obviously)
does not give one
the right to rape
child-like qualities-
every breath
maximizes its memory
or lucid nightmare;
my words are here,
and as i was told 'better out than in'
and i make ill-crafted poems
that could pass as disjointed prose
neglect to be-(a)ware(s) of my awareness
of that which is.was.willbe
good
this inner battle manifests!
and i lose to me,
destroyed//;
no such thing as
commitment, for us, my sweets,
is there?
commie-itment
commie-hitment
commie-hit-men-t
com-hit-me-n-t---
'no such thing, in my world';;
half of me says
intelligence, in spurts,
death to trust
soft goes hard
and warm goes icy,
surprise!
. . .
I am trying to be blind to it;
the frailty of the heart
as juxtaposed to life's potential
and beauty's
and stories I've been told:
ive been suspicious all along,
and letting you love on me was
a silent shout
to please-please
let me, along with her, so frail,
give up and rest-ed
give up and rest-ed;
Oh, Pup!
Oh, Papa.
Pup
Pub
Pap
Papa
Baby Papa
(hush)
(no)
Papa-Mama
. . .
kavorkian, when cavorting, the caveat is,
was both grim reaper and
oregonian angel: pick your side
pretend to defend
and protect and divine
oh the controversy!
but in a world where alive means dead
and vice versa,
and your saint is a zombie
or doesn't even exist,
or
hovering, might as well not,
what choice does
papa-mama-sister-friend
have?
or daughter, too.
pulse:
i am eirik
beat:
i am erik
breath:
i am derek
arrest:
i am erika
regurgitate:
i am erik a
upchuck:
i am eric
steady:
i am erica
pulse:
i am r-ka
murmer, flutter:
i am baby haines
palpitate:
i am e
where do all the typos
life's tiny rushed misinterpretations go,
to the landfill?
it's compost.
beat:
i remember people who cause me pain because
without them my story would flatline,
iron iorn i earn
irony:
i had the deepest love for someone who i watched love someone else
and i grew up like this, watching things disappear and not realizing i had a voice
audible to anyone but an angel-mother i shared a heartbeat with;
still, sometimes, in my dreams, i still do.
and it happened again!
love destroys!
and it is all we live for!
why?!
--i just mean,
i do
remember love in fields of golden barley
i do
remember you amongst the flowers
i do
remember love under the orange tree
i do
remember you beneath the wisteria
and i think i imagine it!
isn't it sad!
and when i say it's love,
because someone better will take you
has, and deserved you;
i resort to work.
until my only deficit is to attention,
hyperactive;
now focus:
how small and ant-like, this agony,
(ant-agony)
just to have someone read, attend
this string of thought, fully;
and the feeling i feel when
I let them fall away to everyone but me,
having satisfied their scroll,
going up, going down;
their modern romp (!)
scattered,
like birdseed,
ashes,
irrevocable
our holocaust]]
hollow-cast:
and call it what you will;
writing is an attempt to disappear;
networking its polar opposite.
i willed good, got evil.
i willed evil, got good.
as usual, i cannot see the results.
ponder this:
if i didnt make this a poem, indent, patternize, groom it
you might understand it better.
so take things: my words,
my milk,
if you are indeed my baby, oh baby!
then ponder this:
if i feel asleep by you
and hints of a child crawled out of me or you in the night,
and it somehow got away, would it ever come to find me or you
and what would i say
and what would you?
a hug in a closet did not make the greenhouse appear,
your nurtured torment torments even your own reality,
because i told you the things that would make me happy.
hope that helps you,
cause i am so confused
about everything
about whether you want me
and why
am choked
am bullied
am laked
am sandwiched
am swiped
am spent.
if it makes no sense that's because there is no need for it to
if this is a penance, i am not sure what i would be paying for
except maybe gratitude, creativity, friendship, love, and joy.
other half come
come come come
back
i am small again
eyes are closing
come back
