Tuesday, December 15, 2009

new poem


This morning, pacing,
I understood the importance
of basic things.

If there was nothing
to distract us we'd all
be taken by a
rapid darkness.

The fact is that each second
has in it the potential
for death's arrival.

I made a few phone calls.
I was in a state of panic
because there was a man,
a savage vigilante, chasing me
with his machete.

The truth is,
he's always chasing me
but I only let others
know occasionally.

Please, do not contact the authorities.

I should use this time
to apologize to anyone
still waiting for me
to call them. I'm sorry
for hiding, it's only a
defense mechanism.

I would go outside

trees and water and
the intricacy of nature
remind me only of a
beautiful girl
who is incapable of
loving you back.

Here, in the back,
I can see the driver
dozing. Maybe he's on
too much of something.
Either way, he's forgotten
where we're going
and I'm not compelled
to tell him. He swerves
right, corrects himself,
then swerves left.

Half of me knows
that when we crash
we will land unsuccessfully
and be eaten alive by vultures.

In the morning, rotting,
we will understand the importance
of much more than
basic things,
and maybe then,

under the wreckage,
I'll be over it.

Friday, December 11, 2009

new poem

"December 11th, 3:55 am"

I stood by the door, half-open,
trembling, listening to
you make noise in there
with him.

I knew you better when
your hair was shorter and
a different color, when
your head was full of smoke
and my belly full
of downers.

I often wonder why I
feel pain in both of
my shoulders, but then
I remember
that my body is full of poison
and that I fell off the sofa.

Sophia, I am withered and
beaten by your infernal wisdom.

These frostbitten urchins
are all my children, and I
have been hiding in my room
for as long
as time has bloodied them.

There is also a painting
of birds behind the desk
of Dr. Richardson.
My poor mother sent me
to him

because she thought I
was going to kill myself.

Dr. Richardson says that
every person is like a puzzle
with missing pieces, and that
some people are missing too
many pieces
and it's his job
to find those pieces and
help his patients put
together their own unique

Being with Dr. Richardson
makes me want to
swallow all of my
mother's klonopin
and wake up in a
foggy heaven

with all of my dead dogs.