It is a four way intersection
With no street lights.
An unlit cigarette
It is a car
with no headlights
No signals at all
It is a hearth
with no fire.
It is no television
It is a chruch
with no windows.
An unlit candle
It is a stage
with no spotlight
It is a rave
with no lazers
It is an uncharged cell phone
It is never having a cell phone
It is crowding to watch an aura boreailois
With nothing in the sky
It is starless nights
It is a storm
With no lightning
It is a ship sailing to land in a storm
With no light house to guide them.
It is naked and safe
It is surrounded by dark
Surrounded by snow
Surrounded by spirits
It is grey eyes
that don't look back
they look through you
Into the light.
I spent seven years in purgatory
Not between heaven
Waiting for hell
Felt like sand and fire
Like I was dripping down
Cooking the Unsubmerged parts
Up above the hourglass
trickling below my feet.
In a heatwave.
who showed god
The magnifying glass
He burns ants with?
Fuck that guy.
I am an ant in purgatory
It feels like I can carry so much weight
I am small
capable of so much
Everywhere around me
People built normally
can do more
It takes a mad scientist
His imagination of the shrink ray
The switch on the side
Something out of a sci-fi movie
Just to make me grow
It takes somebody with an imagination
Just to think i'm impressive
who gave god the Shrink ray?
I thrive on the creators
Bath in their passion
Crave their attention
I need to hear their words
See their art
Live their stories through mediums
This abundance of descision
Where they hold hands with a paint chip god
Fingernails of mustard, line and savage
Spilling splattering across canvas
Or music sheets
Who gave god the paint brush?
It was me.
Pave whatever heartfelt wisdom you have with bedrock
Bury it under thick heavy ores
Tombstome lullaby your thoights for me.
Deep in the under earth hidden from my children
My children who come to me of their own will
I do not make them, they make me.
I am nothing without thise I inspire
Take your worship of their bodoes somewhere else
Take your lures
To the cattleprodding red man wher you will hide your ambitious eros for my family
If you are really "Wise"
Oh, they love you don't they?
You made them so giddy to be slaughtered
After years of molding and guiding
One tertdacyl swoop with your hungery eyes
youbare not worthy of my rivalry
I do not need to throw gauntlets down for scum.
Let there be no forgiven intentions
Your mind would not be kept to yourself
If you laced it with trip wire
We know your secrets.
This is not a wizard battle.
we are not spiraling in a cataclysm on rooptop islands playing guitars shootig fireballs at one another
I am standing in a doorway.
You are naked on a bed
My arms are crossed and you are leaving.
This is not a goodbye
This is a warm bath, ibeprofen for your headache and a razor blade
Patrick starfish has a better home then you deserve.
Even at the bedrock of bikini bottom
You are mpt far enough down
Out of sight
Get your filthy hands off this grass
Stop breathing already
This is a public service announcement.
There are cockroaches in the walls of your body
Mold in the ceilings of your eyelids
You cry so often they can't dry out.
We paint over them with makeup
we have no idea why
we think paint
will fix your roof
There's still mold
There are still cockroaches
in the walls of your body.
We called them butterflies to be cutesy
it's time we told you
they are cockroaches.
In this familiar metaphor
where you are a grand hotel.
You were actually an AirBnB
Someone decided one day:
"AHH fuck it.
We can open our house
for a quick buck.
What's the worst that can happen?
They rob us?
what are they gonna take?
We got nothin'"
then you did.
And they did.
they smelt bad
brought their girlfriend
and fucked in your guest bedroom
I mean it was your den,
with a sleeping bag
But they fucked in there!
In YOUR sleeping back
And stole your coffee maker!
YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE
A COFFEE MAKER
BEFORE YOU STARTED BEING
you bought that fucking coffee maker
for airbnb guests
and now look at you.
Spent more on ammenaties
then you made.
Should have gone to walmart
you had to "buy local"
we are still talking about your body
That fucking tennant brought cockroaches
You don't know how
but he was from new york
so it was totaly his fault.
now you need to hire pest control
BUT WHO IN THE HELL
CAN CONTROL THE PESTS
IN YOUR GODAMNED BODY
You buy local.
These hippies don't use pesticides
thats their whole shtick.
You gotta use dirt and pray.
So you do.
You open up the wounds they left
Or you found
Or made last night
And you shove dirt in them.
And I'll be damned
if it doesn't make the cockroaches
Tell us about the flowers again.
"I don't like to tell those stories anymore little Bug."
but you write allll your poems about the flowers
you have so much love in you papa!
"I don't remember the flowers, Bug."
you have to remember the flowers!
you spent years telling the world about them on stage!
How the sunflower invited you to an occupied bed
and you stayed there for shelter
imagined a future with her, another child
But You found your child in the pansie
when the sunflower left for Hotter adventures.
You really loved the pansies Grampa
"Yes I did, more than anything."
Every time you met a flower you left them for the pansies!
the pansies are so pretty
they had you obsessed grandpa, you were addicted you said!
how they smelled, how they felt on your fingers
but they were always getting into danger and never listened to you
they made you feel like you were broken
and they were withering away
All of your flowers always went without eating grandpa!
why didn't you water them?
"I promise you bug, I watered them plenty."
crying on them doesn't help grandpa,
you needed to feed them
"I fed them plenty"
Did you feed them enough sun?
you always said you kept them in
with the windows shut, that's why they withered
until they all left you for the sun
"The sun left me, they didn't leave me for the sun."
No the forget me nots took the sun from you
you said that a lot
how she stole the happiness from you and gave you this poetry
how you really can never forget her
and you hate that it's her favorite flower
because it seems enchanted on purpose to haunt you.
"Let's talk about a different flower"
Ooh the daffodil didn't eat either
she wrote poems about it! and she even wanted to plant a bunch of poison for you
she kept coming back too! all the flowers came and went with the seasons
she gave you so much that you practically died when she left
you were poor and got sick from not eating
crashed your car and tried to kill yourself
"these aren't casual things you should be talking about in passing with your grandpa bug"
but it's all in your poetry!
the pansies really loved you grandpa.
The sunflowers gave you Charity because it's what they knew
The daffodils supported you when you both needed each other
the forget-me-nots are the reason for all your trauma and will stick with you for the rest of your life
but the pansies kept coming back because they loved you
you didn't offer each other anything other than love
you didn't drive each other or pay for bills
you didn't even like to go out but you did, because it was a reason to be together
What's your favorite Flower Grandpa?
"I never had one when I was asked"
when was the last time you were asked?
"when the pansies first told me their name"
what did you say?
"I said goodbye...
but not for long
you know me and the pansies"
You ever wanna lick a lollipop?
You ever wanna take turns licking the lollipop
With your loved one?
You ever wanna lick the lollipop at the same time
But your loved one shoves
the whole lollipop
stick and all
Down their throat
Asphixiates on the mere Concept
Of ever having licked the lollipop in the first place
Let alone the reality that you
You, the love of their life,
They, the victim of ultimatum
Have both licked the lollipop?
You ever been the lollipop?
Erasure & Found Poem from
"On Photography By Teju Cole in april 16th new york times magazine
You were The fast moving disaster of a tsunami
added to the slow motion disaster
of a nuclear calamity
more than 15,000 people dead.
earthquake cut off
my external power supply
Floodwaters damaged my backup generators
Disabled it's cooling system
Fuel in three reactor cores melted
Everyone saw The water coming in
The roads swept away
Towns and harbors destroyed
Extensive documentary work
was undertaken by photographers
Of the ruins,
Cleanup and relief operations
The gut-wrentching scale of destruction
The professionalism of the emergency crews
The fortitude of the survivers
The extreme uncertainty I feel
in our current political moment
helps me understand for the first time
the curious twinship
of mourning and premonition.
about the tragedy
Sorrow for the suffering it caused
Gratitude for the work
that makes sorrow visible
Foreboding about the future.
An alert flashes
Something terrible has happened
Far away, a flood, an airstrike,
Soon, there's footage of people picking through wreckage
what used to be their homes
It is easy to pity them
Difficult to imagine this will be you
Suddenly bereft of a solid place in the world.
Listening to anything
that touches on the sublime
makes me apprehensive.
Like The silence that greets us
waking in the middle of the night