tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31124309550182835552024-03-04T21:07:57.572-08:00M.C. Bausmanpoemsmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-16511260445285396622011-08-01T08:22:00.000-07:002012-10-14T19:40:58.634-07:00another new old poemThe Girls Of Covenant Cove
<br />
<br />I cling to the shaved legs of my
<br />babysitter while Jenny renders
<br />me mental in the living room,
<br />her thin frame balanced
<br />between my thumbs,
<br />kingdoms away from open fields
<br />beyond her V-Card.
<br />
<br />A circus of toothless bullies
<br />left me noosed
<br />next to a pair of giant scissors
<br />in your Dad's shed.
<br />
<br />Before the van sped
<br />away, you caught a peek
<br />of the rip in my trousers,
<br />at the gas station,
<br />a peg skipping across two
<br />lakes at once- they
<br />are on to you.
<br />
<br />Something pharmaceutical
<br />fell into you
<br />
<br />before you slithered
<br />into a coma,
<br />stranded with a chairman of
<br />impotent evenings,
<br />
<br />the ghost
<br />in the graveyard
<br />
<br />masturbating behind
<br />a dumpster.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-4965459865290039222011-07-25T09:04:00.000-07:002011-08-09T13:05:29.659-07:00revised poemMy Sister, The Woodchipper
<br />
<br />When you were lit
<br />We did bad shit
<br />
<br />Before they chased us
<br />Back to the Emporium.
<br />
<br />The clouds convulsed
<br />As we puked pink
<br />Through makeshift subdivisions.
<br />
<br />She told me to stop staring
<br />And pass her the Hydromorphone.
<br />
<br />Later, alone
<br />By the lockers,
<br />I remembered myself two years
<br />Younger, my ear hissing
<br />
<br />Against the gameroom entrance,
<br />And you calling through
<br />The scramble of
<br />
<br />Infernal engines,
<br />Still young, grazing your
<br />Tongue over gacked gums
<br />
<br />While I lay in the trunk
<br />Waiting for you to loosen
<br />The shoelace around my neck.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-42115050550216008162011-07-19T13:42:00.001-07:002011-07-21T00:47:38.672-07:00new (revised) poemElegy For Lorna<br /><br />September,<br />you slumped over<br /><br />the air-conditioner,<br />under the weather,<br /><br />your mirror<br />riddled with hairline<br /><br />fractures,<br />a cleft reflection <br /><br />of your <br />pierced face,<br /><br />I tried to scoot you<br />sideways,<br /><br />away from the balcony,<br />cornered in <br /><br />a labyrinthine factory<br />of porn and taffy,<br /><br />all I did <br />that year was chew candy<br /><br />and mutilate<br />my froggish body, <br /><br />pissing red,<br />you said you were sorry<br /><br />before I carried you<br />to the reaper's lobby,<br /><br />so squirrelly <br />on your mother's Campari.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-66072396852272325772011-07-17T22:29:00.001-07:002011-07-17T22:29:58.134-07:00new (revised) poemTo a Mirror In Grade School<br /><br />how did you become so talkative?<br />when I first met you<br />some Sophomore<br />urinated all over your chubby face.<br /><br />since then, <br />you've lifted<br />many heavy<br />weights,<br />but the unchanged<br />heart of a poltergeist<br />still waits for you<br />at homemorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-41021916165172472412011-07-17T22:27:00.000-07:002011-07-20T18:08:37.449-07:00Revised older poemMemory Of Mary Magdalene<br /><br />I met you for the first time at Laura's House<br />after you swallowed every pill in the bag and fell<br />off the balcony. Someone in the room called you<br />one crazy mother and they were right. <br /><br />Outside the Emporium I would wait outside<br />as you drove by everyday,<br />leaving my stomach fishy for reasons<br />only my pecker could answer to. <br /><br />I heard a rumor <br />you had your <br />clit pierced when <br />you were fifteen. <br /><br />No one knows how old you are,<br />but the whole school still wants to fuck you.<br /><br />You must take great care of your body.<br /><br />Not like me,<br />today my diet consisted of six scotches<br />and half a bag of Animal Crackers, <br />which I stopped eating <br />after I thought I heard one of them scream for its life. <br /><br />What kind of life is it to be trapped in a <br />bag all of the time? I guess it's no different than my life, <br />or yours, even. You, more than anyone, should know that<br />we are all breakable little animals, waiting <br />to be devoured completely.<br /><br />Mary, I wish you <br />would drive past me.<br /><br />Bludgeon me <br />while I'm sleeping,<br />dreaming of your <br />wild brown hairmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-28702783938676233582011-07-13T18:29:00.000-07:002011-07-13T18:35:02.038-07:00Old revised poemJustin's Story About Some Lady<br /><br />so we leave Kevin's <br />and I'm way too ripped<br />on something I can't even pronounce<br />and so is Jason and Jason's driving<br />and I think maybe he shouldn't be<br />but we made it to Tracy's <br />without dying so yeah <br />on the way there <br />I saw this woman banging<br />her head over and over <br />against a telephone pole <br />and her face was bleeding<br />like crazy but<br />I stayed silent and Jason<br />kept driving and five minutes<br />later we were at Tracy's <br />and I'd forgotten<br />the woman <br />and her fucked up face entirelymorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-5858253866295396012011-06-25T12:10:00.000-07:002011-06-25T12:22:44.175-07:00New PoemLorna to the E.R.<br /><br />The end of the semester arrived<br />when her head hit the counter,<br />eyes reeking of pills I gave her.<br /><br />She came to later<br />and asked for water,<br />but I could not hear<br />her as I was planted<br /><br />on the shitter, tugging myself <br />purple to the thought of a<br />bug-eyed ginger, her lower-<br />half like a hammer<br />smashing me into a jizzy batter...<br /><br />Your voice reached closer, now<br />a whisper, its timbre softer <br />than I ever could remember,<br />my hand raced faster,<br />fingers forming <br />a stricter cylinder around my<br />dweeby member.<br /><br />Soon some silver arrows <br />shot promptly to the wall <br />next to the shower, <br />from the center they crept down<br />in the shape of antlers. Your voice<br />was now lower, sinking with your<br />body next to the refrigerator. <br /><br />I sat up at the sound of a knock<br />but could not answer, too busy<br />flattening a shaving razor, <br />waiting for the knocking reaper <br />to break the door, lift me over<br />his shoulder and deliver <br />me back to her.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-80973183268718130712011-05-19T13:09:00.000-07:002011-05-19T13:10:24.337-07:00Old poem- Autobiography AssignmentWhite Harbor, '96<br /><br />We moved north of Palatine<br />to the state-line, where I<br />swallowed my first twelve years.<br /><br />Of this time, I remember drinking<br />Jolt Cola and fucking my sofa,<br />thinking mostly of Lisa,<br />an older girl from Catholic School<br />who crowned me her Prince after<br />I let her use my urine for<br />a drug-test. <br /><br />I remember Nate's brother Nick<br />showing me how to do cocaine<br />in his walk-in closet. I felt<br />sad and nauseous. I saw him<br />some years later, strung out<br />at Church's.<br /><br />My mother was a substitute teacher,<br />Father a gun collector.<br />Sister painted her walls black <br />and blared Reznor, her savior.<br />I learned depression from her, <br />as well as how to swear. <br />My first love was her friend<br /><br />Shelly, a mousy diet-pill addict<br />who would sometimes babysit me,<br />allowing me to watch TV before<br />falling asleep on her<br />non-belly.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-46996848565671523782011-05-17T00:41:00.000-07:002011-05-17T00:42:06.821-07:00Old PoemCase Study<br /><br />Wednesday, at the parkway,<br />Elizabeth accepted money from<br /><br />an undercover deputy. Outside<br />the Estero Public Library,<br /><br />Mallory purchases <br />21 tablets as a present <br /><br />for Colie. All women, <br />charged with felonies,<br /><br />remained friendly as<br />a total of 55 faces<br /><br />took custody <br />of the eveningmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-20580381606593630952011-05-16T18:50:00.001-07:002011-07-13T18:24:26.392-07:00Revised older poemLorna, A minor<br /><br />We spoke in strangled English<br />after belted with the garden hoe.<br />Conceived in cafeterias (hush!),<br />we were commas tossed through the fleshy O.<br /><br />Soon the sky was redder than hellish russet,<br />and Grandpa's pills were gone in a week.<br />I begged you not to cross it <br />out, the sentence I sharpied on the back<br /><br />of your pink and black ledger, where life<br />found language in shitlists and shades<br />of private anguish, as if<br />life was there only to rip you to shreds.<br /><br />You were born in 1982<br />to red-eyed equines caked in frost<br />When you were eight you killed a cockatoo,<br />my love for you the cost.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-7518018933040627722011-02-28T19:39:00.000-08:002011-07-13T18:25:43.931-07:00new poemOn Ariel<br /><br />Katie mentioned you<br />after school while we were<br /><br />sitting in her room,<br />orbed by psychoactive fumes.<br /><br />She told me I would love you,<br />and quickly introduced you,<br /><br />not before urging me to take care<br />of you, to never lose you. I nodded<br /><br />off for a second. Katie smacked me,<br />told me she was fucking serious.<br /><br />You reeked of cannabis. Katie said<br />not to move too fast, that you were <br /><br />stranger than the others.<br />With Hurricane Ivan on the horizon,<br /><br />we were stuck inside <br />for the weekend. You were exhausting,<br /><br />a lioness<br />with hellish lashes. <br /><br />You told me about your father,<br />what a monster. I stayed<br /><br />with you for hours, and fell asleep<br />as the storm killed the neighbors.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-20933777938317682392011-02-13T09:09:00.000-08:002011-05-16T18:44:19.944-07:00new poemO.L.H.<br /><br />Straighten your sweater and pocket those<br />poppers, it's Wednesday Mass. We move like<br />baby cows through the unadorned vestibule,<br />into the church adjacent<br /><br />to our crotch-scented gymnasium.<br />Entering, one might wonder if<br />this place was designed for an angel<br />whose eternal musk did not smell<br /><br />unlike a dollar store candle. We dab<br />our temples with blessed water, purchased<br />in bulk from Jewel-Osco, while icons rendered<br />in stained glass stare pervertedly.<br /><br />Our Lady Of Humility headlocks me<br />in puberty as I become visibly<br />erect for no reason. No angel<br />can soften the lone Episcopalian.<br /><br />My friend Nathan cleverly drops acid<br />at the end of the pew. I catch a whiff<br />of fish sticks as Father Radcliff passes,<br />his head as stubby as the cock of<br /><br />Donatello's David. Two rows up,<br />God appears in the form of Lynette<br />Schrader's blonde hair. Like an angel,<br />she sleeps quietly, dreaming her way out.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-4325348557403705172011-02-09T05:43:00.000-08:002011-06-25T12:20:17.500-07:00new poemThe Sandpiper<br /><br />She paces outside<br />The Sandpiper Inn, jaw shifting,<br />pupils pinned, arms itching under<br />her black peacoat. <br /><br />I arrive out the side<br />of a '94 Ford Tempo,<br />so thrashed I pass out<br />in the hallway<br /><br />of the wrong floor.<br />4 am: she calls<br />repeatedly to no answer.<br />Maybe tomorrow<br /><br />I'll remember crawling <br />from a cul-de-sac in Covenant Cove,<br />covered in urine, repeating<br />her name. I dream<br /><br />of my room <br />at the Sandpiper<br />littered with empty liters,<br />cut straws, and Lorna's<br /><br />crumpled leggings.<br />I also dream of <br />things outside my room before<br />I wake up to her high heel mashing<br /><br />my genitals.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-81068286552890721812011-02-02T15:00:00.000-08:002011-05-17T00:58:02.200-07:00new poem“Osprey”<br /><br />I woke up belly-down in Osprey, spun-out<br />and swollen near a Salvation Army.<br />The sky was bloated with clouds<br />of automotive injury. In the distance, <br />a siren cried like a baby, drowning <br />the ringing in my right ear. I could see<br />the accident clearly from the vacant lot<br />where my body lay heavy, surrounded<br />by soggy garbage. There was blood on<br />the gravel, and a uniformed man with<br />a Senator's stature overseeing<br />the stretchers. <br /><br />Soon, my thoughts were unlucky<br />creatures waiting to be slaughtered. <br />I remembered a night in Wisconsin,<br />wandering naked through the snow, four<br />years old, my mother finding me frostbitten<br />before calling an ambulance. I remembered <br />my face full of liquid morphine.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-27152187055233065362010-10-01T12:55:00.001-07:002010-10-01T12:55:33.021-07:00new poemYear Of The Reaper<br /><br />Last September, you jumped<br />the rafters after<br />leaving Lorna's with a<br />tongue of cinder, dark sockets, and<br />pockets full of tranquilizers.<br /><br />Outside the emporium, I<br />cleared quarts with Justin until<br />your memory scissored me<br />to the floor, where I <br />commanded you to come back.<br /><br />Later, I required medication,<br />and so the days fell<br />through me while <br />death built an engine quietly<br />in my body.<br /><br />The Almighty, I learned, is<br />only a perverted vigilante, a<br />stranger listening through the door,<br />rallying vultures when he decides<br />to knock.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-10206031983198329102010-09-14T21:21:00.000-07:002010-09-14T21:28:31.295-07:00new poemI Remember (Brainard Tribute)<br /><br />Mostly, I remember drinking<br />myself bloody, falling <br />from the flatbed as you sped<br />off to another county.<br /><br />I remember a flock<br />of tweakers approaching me,<br />then waking up in the grass<br />where lost pets drag themselves.<br /><br />I remember you<br />through smudgy glasses<br />and a skull full of vices,<br />too pinned to leave Palmetto.<br /><br />Do you remember me<br />looking younger last year?<br /><br />I remember nothing.<br />Last year was a woman<br />quietly leaving the room<br />as I passed out.<br /><br />I remember the first time<br />I took drugs was when<br />a deranged orthodontist named<br />Phyllis fed them to me.<br /><br />I don't remember<br />third grade as much as<br />the doctor says I should,<br />but I remember<br /><br />a girl named Sara,<br />whose anemia made her<br />bruised legs look like<br />those of a Dalmatian.<br /><br />I remember shitting <br />myself at golf lessons.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-25206724188864269202010-06-16T15:02:00.000-07:002010-06-23T21:03:50.100-07:00new poemThought Brigade<br /><br />we started off<br />quietly enough<br />but outside<br />there was too<br />much stuff so<br />later that evening <br />we went back inside <br />where something <br />strong in a cup<br />stitched us <br />upmorganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-25238291885647200752010-06-15T15:33:00.000-07:002010-06-16T21:11:27.182-07:00new poemPoem About Sleeping<br /><br />yesterday<br />some hours<br />fell through<br />me before<br />night sank<br />its<br /><br />(en)<br />gin<br />(e)<br /><br />deep in<br />my body.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-92062997451589221612010-06-08T17:23:00.001-07:002011-07-13T18:27:26.410-07:00new poemPoem<br /><br />by then,<br />we’d become strangers<br />in person, in a flood<br />of cold light we <br />fell through the<br />prism, stoned, in need<br />of attenti<br /><br />on. off<br /><br />the ledge of the<br />island they found <br />us drowning before<br />returning<br /><br />to lunch. in a two year<br />total we’d become<br />visibl<br /><br />y older, y<br />ou’d risen to<br />the median, though<br /><br />I never saw you<br /><br />as you were:<br /><br />fucked up,<br />puking pills<br />in your parents' backyard.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-63263653015675946332010-06-01T19:33:00.000-07:002011-07-11T11:44:48.586-07:00morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-51122211160796844802010-04-20T13:08:00.001-07:002010-04-20T13:08:57.018-07:00new poemJustin's Way Home<br /><br />my life is <br />weird, real,<br />and riddled with too<br />much time alone,<br />walking home<br />through dead palms,<br />pockets of<br />contraband, eyes<br />pinned, I passed<br />your house then<br />passed out on<br />the golf course, <br />woken by strangers,<br />my friend's mother,<br />fuck! well, whatever,<br />when Annie calls<br />I'm full of fog,<br />still crashing,<br />tracing a wild dosage,<br />some lost hours<br />delivered me to<br />Kevin's Acid Cave <br />before my face split<br />into small pyramids <br />and wandered <br />away, deranged <br />in the slow summer air.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-58938960433538797482010-03-31T13:51:00.000-07:002010-03-31T18:41:38.456-07:00new poemLeft Of Shamrock<br /><br />came to<br />the window, colder, earlier<br />there were others with<br />certified colors, pamphlets<br />of local knowledge,<br />turned left, transported by<br />bus, bullets through<br />the lobby, from the ledge<br />they watched us<br />incinerate the evidence, you<br />were tired, fingers over<br />the electric fence,<br />frightened, four clicks<br />from the warehouse district,<br />jumped the guard rail,<br />fire from the quarters, two<br />miles left, stomach<br />full of capsules, skinned my<br />knee nearby, ears <br />stationed to constant ringing, <br />and sirens calling from<br />somewhere else.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-79963404569362341402010-03-12T20:07:00.000-08:002010-03-12T20:08:13.644-08:00new poemMelina<br /><br />dropped their flashlights, morning<br />happened, slunk out the van, <br />your tiny hand, scabbed, tracked,<br />limply clutching your<br />mother’s silver flask, shaken awake,<br />we fled the Emporium,<br />blacked out in Naples, blood on<br />your sneakers, pockets<br />full of Crystal, night turned<br />red, you let go of him, lost<br />through weirder subdivisions,<br />stucco dens of<br />pill-snatching pre-teens, your<br />brothers and sisters, your<br />pin-eyed minions, found you <br />again near the church, <br />eyes all wrong,<br />pulled you up, brushed your<br />skull, moved on,<br />cut through Sorrento Woods<br />into the Campus, hid under<br />the bleachers until <br />they saw us, ran far through<br />unfamiliar pastures, ran for<br />hours, woke up, tied up,<br />locked in the neighbor’s <br />shed, saw you <br />near, smiling,<br />and something heavy<br />was lifted.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-15119360610163916432009-12-15T14:19:00.000-08:002009-12-15T23:07:31.684-08:00new poem"Biscayne"<br /><br />This morning, pacing,<br />I understood the importance<br />of basic things.<br /><br />If there was nothing <br />to distract us we'd all<br />be taken by a<br />rapid darkness. <br /><br />The fact is that each second<br />has in it the potential<br />for death's arrival.<br /><br />Earlier,<br />I made a few phone calls.<br />I was in a state of panic<br />because there was a man,<br />a savage vigilante, chasing me<br />with his machete.<br /><br />The truth is,<br />he's always chasing me<br />but I only let others<br />know occasionally. <br /><br />Please, do not contact the authorities.<br /><br />I should use this time<br />to apologize to anyone<br />still waiting for me<br />to call them. I'm sorry<br />for hiding, it's only a<br />defense mechanism.<br /><br />I would go outside<br />but<br /><br />trees and water and <br />the intricacy of nature<br />remind me only of a<br />beautiful girl<br />who is incapable of<br />loving you back.<br /><br />Here, in the back,<br />I can see the driver<br />dozing. Maybe he's on<br />too much of something.<br />Either way, he's forgotten<br />where we're going<br />and I'm not compelled <br />to tell him. He swerves<br />right, corrects himself,<br />then swerves left.<br /><br />Half of me knows <br />that when we crash<br />we will land unsuccessfully<br />and be eaten alive by vultures.<br /><br />In the morning, rotting,<br />we will understand the importance<br />of much more than<br />basic things,<br />and maybe then,<br /><br />under the wreckage,<br />I'll be over it.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3112430955018283555.post-38342043716125283392009-12-11T01:44:00.000-08:002009-12-11T15:40:52.926-08:00new poem"December 11th, 3:55 am"<br /><br />I stood by the door, half-open,<br />trembling, listening to <br />you make noise in there<br />with him.<br /><br />I knew you better when <br />your hair was shorter and<br />a different color, when<br />your head was full of smoke<br />and my belly full<br />of downers.<br /><br />I often wonder why I<br />feel pain in both of<br />my shoulders, but then<br />I remember <br />that my body is full of poison<br />and that I fell off the sofa.<br /><br />Sophia, I am withered and<br />beaten by your infernal wisdom.<br /><br />These frostbitten urchins <br />are all my children, and I<br />have been hiding in my room <br />for as long<br />as time has bloodied them.<br /><br />There is also a painting <br />of birds behind the desk<br />of Dr. Richardson. <br />My poor mother sent me<br />to him<br /><br />because she thought I<br />was going to kill myself.<br /><br />Dr. Richardson says that<br />every person is like a puzzle<br />with missing pieces, and that<br />some people are missing too <br />many pieces <br />and it's his job<br />to find those pieces and<br />help his patients put <br />together their own unique<br />puzzle.<br /><br />Being with Dr. Richardson <br />makes me want to<br />swallow all of my <br />mother's klonopin <br />and wake up in a<br />foggy heaven<br /><br />with all of my dead dogs.morganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09039328437881478042noreply@blogger.com1