ado-a - Hello Poetry

Slow pains sparkle like tin pans most nights Most nights when we sleep on our sides and our wrists Yours; mine; I cannot tell without more pause but All the same they are inescapable yet effervescent. [If Faulkner uses abject one more time I will...] There are troubles with this tongue and this teeth And I cannot express them now but in time In time, all the mistakes will be crossed out.

0

Jun 3, 2010

Jun 3, 2010 at 8:30 PM UTC

ado-a

Whilst

Slow pains sparkle like tin pans most nights Most nights when we sleep on our sides and our wrists Yours; mine; I cannot tell without more pause but All the same they are inescapable yet effervescent. [If Faulkner uses abject one more time I will...] There are troubles with this tongue and this teeth And I cannot express them now but in time In time, all the mistakes will be crossed out.

8

Everything is done All that I have tried to say Voiced, unvoiced, crumples. This place, inconsequential Hangs above me by a thread.

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May 19, 2010

May 19, 2010 at 5:07 AM UTC

ado-a

The Last Days, Part II

Everything is done All that I have tried to say Voiced, unvoiced, crumples. This place, inconsequential Hangs above me by a thread.

5

With nothing to do I went exploring. The James house is stately, old- I think of it when I read Walcott. Disjecta membra. There is nothing so sinister as Mr. Tumnus behind any of its doors (what is literature for if not allusions?), but there are enough doors to keep a stranger busy for hours. Days, even. And that is what I had been doing during my midyear cool mornings and stifling afternoons.

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Mar 16, 2010

Mar 16, 2010 at 3:44 PM UTC

ado-a

This, now

With nothing to do I went exploring. The James house is stately, old- I think of it when I read Walcott. Disjecta membra. There is nothing so sinister as Mr. Tumnus behind any of its doors (what is literature for if not allusions?), but there are enough doors to keep a stranger busy for hours. Days, even. And that is what I had been doing during my midyear cool mornings and stifling afternoons.

12

I once knew a girl her Name was Liez she did not Have hair fingernails cartilage She had the nicest smile. When Liez smiled it was as rare as Feeling the last raindrop of a storm Remembering the last time your father Hoisted you up to sit on his shoulders the Last time you could sit with your legs Indian-style With your feet on top. When Liez died no one made a sound but they All cried and I did too.

0

Feb 20, 2010

Feb 20, 2010 at 4:46 AM UTC

ado-a

Asyndeton

I once knew a girl her Name was Liez she did not Have hair fingernails cartilage She had the nicest smile. When Liez smiled it was as rare as Feeling the last raindrop of a storm Remembering the last time your father Hoisted you up to sit on his shoulders the Last time you could sit with your legs Indian-style With your feet on top. When Liez died no one made a sound but they All cried and I did too.

12

For sale: One complete pulmonary system Heart, only good for parts. Bloodless, lifeless, scarred on the left side Email with bids and for photographs.

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Feb 20, 2010

Feb 20, 2010 at 4:46 AM UTC

ado-a

The Auction

For sale: One complete pulmonary system Heart, only good for parts. Bloodless, lifeless, scarred on the left side Email with bids and for photographs.

5

Coming home to find that you had changed all the hinges Was worse than losing a limb. For six years, the sound of your door creaking Open at three AM signaled me to Pretend to be asleep, to hang up the phone or Close the book and squeeze my eyes shut. I knew if my sister left her room, I knew When my mother was cooking dinner. Now the silence is a personal affront, the opposite of ma, this is the terrible discomfort of not knowing who is coming or going. When my sister was away, hearing her Door squeak open on occasion made me Feel as though she still resided here Her ties have finally been severed, and she Hasn’t even finished undergrad yet. This is akin To replacing all of our larynxes with computers. When we open our mouths, pale blue text Boxes with rounded edges and sans-serif phrases Float out and hover noiselessly.

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Feb 12, 2010

Feb 12, 2010 at 7:52 PM UTC

ado-a

Unhinged

Coming home to find that you had changed all the hinges Was worse than losing a limb. For six years, the sound of your door creaking Open at three AM signaled me to Pretend to be asleep, to hang up the phone or Close the book and squeeze my eyes shut. I knew if my sister left her room, I knew When my mother was cooking dinner. Now the silence is a personal affront, the opposite of ma, this is the terrible discomfort of not knowing who is coming or going. When my sister was away, hearing her Door squeak open on occasion made me Feel as though she still resided here Her ties have finally been severed, and she Hasn’t even finished undergrad yet. This is akin To replacing all of our larynxes with computers. When we open our mouths, pale blue text Boxes with rounded edges and sans-serif phrases Float out and hover noiselessly.

19

I have said “I forgive you” 490 times. You asked me if I knew I was a dumb **** One. You told me it was my fault he left. Seven. The numbers are lost on me after that But they follow, illogically, a logical progression Like the patterns formed by the spaces in-between Words, trickling down past what is happening. The plot is unknown, at times even random, but the spaces are most certainly predetermined. At 490, the count resets to zero.

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Feb 12, 2010

Feb 12, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC

ado-a

Date Written Unknown

I have said “I forgive you” 490 times. You asked me if I knew I was a dumb **** One. You told me it was my fault he left. Seven. The numbers are lost on me after that But they follow, illogically, a logical progression Like the patterns formed by the spaces in-between Words, trickling down past what is happening. The plot is unknown, at times even random, but the spaces are most certainly predetermined. At 490, the count resets to zero.

10

Pistachio, when I first learned your name It was long and reminded me of nothing— The always-full ice cream bucket, My third grade class and asking if your namesake Came from a tree or a bush.

0

Feb 12, 2010

Feb 12, 2010 at 7:49 PM UTC

ado-a

Pistachio

Pistachio, when I first learned your name It was long and reminded me of nothing— The always-full ice cream bucket, My third grade class and asking if your namesake Came from a tree or a bush.

5

This snow, this snow, this consumption. It is a sinister tabula rasa, a second flood More permanent. So it follows that this is when I feel the safest; Yes, I cannot leave my house, but Neither can the unwelcome enter. It has become easier to count the hours Than the number of days, because those, my friend Those are easily limitless.

0

Feb 10, 2010

Feb 10, 2010 at 5:01 AM UTC

ado-a

February

This snow, this snow, this consumption. It is a sinister tabula rasa, a second flood More permanent. So it follows that this is when I feel the safest; Yes, I cannot leave my house, but Neither can the unwelcome enter. It has become easier to count the hours Than the number of days, because those, my friend Those are easily limitless.

9

All of the tables, even the biggest one, (which is meant for handicapped customers, which is why I moved two hours ago), are fitted with one chair at this hour. I am ******* at dried ice with a straw Because I do not want to leave a tip for a third drink I am listening to Stupidity Tries because its easier not to change the song I am forcing myself to look out the window instead of at the man reading the Dan Brown book, the barista smiling at received texts under the counter, the woman in the red evening dress who has been here almost as long as I have, who has now taken her shoes off who is forcing herself not to look out the window. Everyone in Starbucks at night is alone, Save laptops and tale-telling textbooks From spilt coffee left by adolescents hours ago.

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Feb 7, 2010

Feb 7, 2010 at 9:16 AM UTC

ado-a

Everyone in Starbucks at night is alone

All of the tables, even the biggest one, (which is meant for handicapped customers, which is why I moved two hours ago), are fitted with one chair at this hour. I am ******* at dried ice with a straw Because I do not want to leave a tip for a third drink I am listening to Stupidity Tries because its easier not to change the song I am forcing myself to look out the window instead of at the man reading the Dan Brown book, the barista smiling at received texts under the counter, the woman in the red evening dress who has been here almost as long as I have, who has now taken her shoes off who is forcing herself not to look out the window. Everyone in Starbucks at night is alone, Save laptops and tale-telling textbooks From spilt coffee left by adolescents hours ago.

15