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ABadPenname Nov 2014
-Stop beginning poems with
I Want
Or I Wish-

It is my goal
to be
what
You Hate.

If nothing else,
A Thought
that
You can't get
Unstuck...
                          With any luck
I will be
The strangest thing
you have ever met.
ABadPenname Nov 2014
THAT* Night was remarkable, my
peak
in social stature.  
Earlier on,
I
was
still in editing phases on my self/ psyche.
Mid-morning,
through to
the
very
late
night
-an absolute low.
    *Unbearably
so...            
Until the whiskey
-whom I didn't mind the taste of-
came-on fully.                  
Also
I kept drinking.

I remember clearly
how BAD
the preceding events were.
Me,
seemingly a
LOST CAUSE
for a moment there
before I went from
the gutter to HIGH HEAVENS  outside of  
just a bottle or so.

&

Shortly thereafter
(another day)
when I felt
still ******,
and I
Believed it was perpetual,
and my feelings got all hurt
Or whatever.
Every
feeling
worsened
then,
-&goingforthfrom;
THERE...
  You essentially wrote me.
your first critique.   
Not for my work,
It was for my attitude
that you found undesirable.
that lost your interest in me.   
There have been no letters since.
Nor have there been any critics.


Unfortunately You
-back to Acid Night-
slept sporadically
and somehow soundly
on the couch,
among fallen soldiers and the broken-heart-ed.
                      
   Through this                
You remained
polite as an English,
and surprisingly
(Always Surprising me),
almost chatty
until the very End;  
always
always
An
enthralling conversationalist.
Even (or especially)
while in
this state.

This,
all this,
all of this & AllElseExceptForThatOneThing
was
O.K.
(Originally an acronym for "Zero Killed" in times of war. ...O.K. "-A revisal of
All Good.")
that night.


While you were sleeping
I meandered from
One room
to another room
to the patio
&
Back again to where
The cycle starts off,
bent on the intention
of being one of following:  
rude, or
disrespectful,
overly sarcastic,
always
deeply honest, and
Above all
Capable.
I really was
overly symbiotic.
A fun little strategy
I came upon, was
to figure out
a way of
saying ANYTHING
semi-appropriately
and
within the certain context.
Upon doing so,
I would leave coolly,
but immediately
to another room.

I was on fire through the night.  
(Don't be alarmed, or care however. ) the morning put me out with snowfall.

You did not see me at my Best.
We only spoke briefly on this occasion,
Earlier, when yours kicked in
And you told me that
You felt like a hornets nest
and I
(next time I took this drug)
Could not muster any logic
But for saying,
"Wow. The ***** was right."

I responded  
pretty coarsely.

All you really said to me
(After the night had fallen,
And after I had improved),
-in perfect pitch,
volume,
& articulation,
"I wish that you would yell at me."
At present,
--Now--
I would respond,

"I know that desire well-but
for a different reason,
I think,
than yours."
That reason:          
To make-out
more of your
words,
& to;
drink-in
the familiar melody they take-to.

I leaned closer to you every moment that you spoke.
This was only due to
your sentences beginning to
die off
A little earlier, and
A little earlier on.
They began sweet.
like a song.
Then they
madly trailed off.
as you would.
Maybe a little dizzy...    
    & eventually
(to cure/**** this little silence),
I just murmured like a joke,
"I can't even keep up with you now. You are completely
out of your mind."

and then I trailed off
And I
Wished you could have seen me really.
Revisal
ABadPenname Nov 2014
I was walking with my Brother, my
faraway Mother, and it began to rain down blood.
     We approached my car,
the parking lot was grey and tired and uncrowded.
As these red tears fell against our shoulders, marking our clothes indefinitely, the two of them said blasphemy and I walked on.
"Yes. It's been raining red wine recently."
We looked up to admire it
easy and unskeptical;
my brother's mouth widened. A droplet overpassed my lips. I smelled it, tasted it:
Iron,
Bile.
"It's not wine,"I said.
My brother spit his mouthful out, and he started up explaining us
The horrors of our current climate change.
Chemical rain was coming on now daily.
The clouds and sky purged out the rest of their discolored agony, and I was astounded by its elegance, color.
At least this was something new.
ABadPenname Oct 2014
And you want to talk about simplicity? Let's discuss.
We take our pants off and grind those tender pieces of ourselves together.
ABadPenname Oct 2014
How about distribution,
Another ******* poem To and About "love," and aspirational ***.                                        
            Lip metaphor:
A thick paperback flipped through  both covers in a momentary fluttering; I love that sharp sound.
             Can we break the law a little?
The one that we made without words, and no acknowledgement was needed.      
             -So we'll only break a few,
The one that keeps our lips apart; our individual pages each being read one sentence at a time, maybe passed around the party to obtain a variety of opinion for the same smooth structures.
              So needy for an affirmation, you, all of you, all of us.
All of Our ******* lovepoems and lovers.     Misery a lot-
Don't pretend you arent enjoying it, you masochists, writers.
             About ***:
Take them off, just take them all off-leave no room to guess, I will not dare aspire toward my fiction.
Or else leave them on, and sit here, and lay here, lie here, sleep here, wake here, leave here unviolated by my hands-but keep yourself dressed.
I am **** writing in stanzas.
ABadPenname Oct 2014
Missunderstanding is a very important part of what I am composed of; in fact it could be even Healthy for you.
          Someone might, in a mad world, try to—as opposed to cutting back on gluten or red-meats—someone might instead try to
experience confusion, like, an hour a day.

       I Hope one day when Natural Selection takes it's toll on idiots and the unlucky, and only Hunters and Survivalists survive- perhaps in tribes and cities like in Medieval Times, and Rome (which only burned symbolically), I hope a little desperately that (human)honesty evolves enough so saying words like, "You're getting the wrong idea" could be considered a common courtesy for any conversation being had between a led on individual, and somebody in their right mind.
ABadPenname Sep 2014
Hemingway claimed that he had written the greatest story of all time-
it was six words long,
"For Sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Here's mine:
"Bury the dead; a clever slogan."

— The End —