Archive for February 9th, 2011
Pierced by Hate While Alone in Ocean
A target of the most severe,
alone in my disease is dangerous.
Hermits do not get well,
but the world demands that I become the recluse.
Sappy snow queens with brown terror,
shatter eyes and ruin gut.
Nice would be to reverse all the irremediable ruin,
but even so, I’m never well enough.
Could someone save me,
allow me to become the good being
I’m expected to be?
So natural for me to detest myself,
when others hate me, it is hard enhancement.
My personal qualities are abhorrent.
How do you run from fear
being full of fear? Shields don’t work –
Loaded women dissolve my armaments.
It is all so rotten under my covers.
How might I be revised?
Not by attacks from the scum and the good –
There is no center.
Wired and strained senses with eyes closed,
right before sleep on an airplane,
A POP or SLAM always comes,
louder than a .357.
feelings of being lost cover me
for two or three seconds,
frightening me terribly.
Endeavor not to sleep.
I encounter this abandonment
at the office.
It is electric.
My desk fan is the jet engine.
I awaken in hell.
Slash Me Bad
content or tone or both,
slams me so vehemently.
I am at fault.
I drop the trail of my heart all day.
No one cares to repair me.
Bitter at one
who loves her job so enthusiastically.
She cackles and howls,
bathes in power,
marches like a general.
considers shoes optional,
(but my tie knot shall not be loosened).
She and her job, her contributions of genius
are more important than the sun today.
She loves the convalescences of yapping out orders,
is entirely well-pleased (with herself).
And she stares with eyes that assert
her inability to help
due to such superior position.
I need to be out of this cage.
I would prefer to leave this zoo.
Take me to the hospital.
Throw me from the roller coaster.
Cores of Love
Parts of me,
I hate them passionately.
Parts of loved ones too.
Down the stream,
colliding with boulders,
polished for water,
not for me.
Water imbues me with flow.
With all the virtue of air,
love the ugly parts,
and move along.
Death not present on the long road today.
Big human wagons, should be on their sides
in swamped cattle pastures with streaks of green fear.
Skating to stay neatly in line with a world
that bears the treated compounds of armor
and carves me, slices me with night and blue signs.
Dullness of elephants spanking pink clouds
with ropy tails, honking at me: “Get out of line!”
I sink in the yard of wagons, awaiting the violet crash.