there is no value in a poem that reads
_____
_____
____­
M M l i f e s u c k s x x x n o p o e m i g o t

just

nerve; crap bs, a denial of craft

seek the intelligent intelligible,
kiss the sensational thrill that
emotion harvests with resonating tenses
that beg our brains to differ, sense

this claims,
there is no value in no words is
a hoax cloaked as art by the weak,
make thy metaphors metastasize,
my every cell, a preposition,
preposterous and precious and
comforting in their
privations and provocations

speak to us in alpha and
line our eyes wide,
with pictures at an exhibition
of a faun immobile and beauteous

let me hang on every word of yours and
let it be the raft that sees me happily
unsafe home

take your bs line poem  
shove it down your silent voice

this is not avant garde; this is insulting

p.s.  write me a smile and all will be_____.

I’m doing so well.
I offered you to Charybdis in exchange for my sanity.
Scylla too, at first, but she seemed too great an evil and I’m over it, I promise.
I’d rather watch you disappear into the maelstrom of my memory than
have to pick six pieces of your body from the crags in my head.

I’m doing so well.
I warned you of the Lotus Eaters
and took ten deep breaths when you peeked inside the bag of winds and blew our love astray.
I told a blind Polyphemus you were sorry for his loss.
He said Nobody is sorry, and I knew that he was right.

I’m doing so well.
I amble through Phoenicia on sidewalks that remember all the stories you told.
I bump into Nausikaa. She asks if I am Circe, and I tell her my name.
She drops her gaze to the pavement before admitting that you never mentioned me.

I’m doing so well.
I don’t spite the olives that dare to grow without our bodies entwined beneath them.
And I don’t mind when Antinous calls me ahead, begging me to finish our shroud - to leave the loom,
and us, behind.

I’m doing so well.
I buried all my anger in Kalypso’s wet sand
And as it followed you out to sea with the tide she came up and commiserated;
You left her once, too.

JEROME
you mar
her skin the colour
of midnight and dawn
like a palette
your mother never brought you
because she was too busy opening her leg
like a gastro pub
the one you have to wait in line to
with the sign "WE'RE CLOSED"
only one deadman short
  

they tell you to love her
the right way
leave her gasping but breathing
standing but swimming
but what
when someone's right is another person's wrong
but how
when you still don't know
house is a building and home is the person
so ******* blame her for
thinking you don't love her when these red and blue
painting her skin is
your version of love bite
and the hallow on her cheek is because your hand
wants to be kissed too
just like your heart
but too bad your father scooped it up and sold it on a
secondhand store with no return policy

blame her
for building a bridge only to set them on fire
and hope for asphalt to surface
or footsteps by the sand with LED sign ' HEAVEN IS HER

but what
when you can't even differentiate whether love is
bliss or rupture
but how
when not even a shooting star can find their way back
so blame her
by loving the **** out of her
chase her until
she runs away
draw her name in abandond graveyards
because god knows how you hope
she can be their salvation
and when she is, maybe, just maybe she can
be yours too
but never ever blame her for
leaving you because
you know
you splatter so many colors on her
how she is no longer a centerpiece of
a masterpiece
how your romantic grandeur ends up a VIP spot
on the living room couch

how you beg until
your knees scraped to its skull
for her to tie a noose one last time
don't blame her for the words that
clogs your lungs so hard you thought
you'd die because of it
don't blame her
never blame her
"What happened?"
"It was my fault anyway."


JEROME
oh, JEROME
hasn't anyone told you
a monster can be someone else's angel too?

You made a poet fall in love with you
And expected her not to write sonnets about your eyes
Haikus about the way you kissed her in the moonlight
Expected the fire in her heart not to inspire couplets
You made a poet fall in love with you, and when you left
Expected her not to write pages about the ache in her chest
Write a soliloquy dedicated to her tears
Expected her not to feel every gut wrenching moment of the pen hitting paper like your words hit her in the most vulnerable places of her mind.
You made a poet fall in love with you, and you expected her to be silent.
That is no fault of hers.

I can hear them in the distance
Sounds of their engines roaring
The hounds are on me
Flashlights and pistols aimed at me
Its just moments away
No point in running
Its all over
My life
My future
All those memories I promised her
Fading away
The closer they get
I can see them
Blue lights flashing
They wanted me
I'll sit on this cold asphalt
Waiting for those steel bracelets
To cup my wrist with anger
Its all over
Tin gods with badges and a gun
Surround me
Birds of supposed justice
Feed on my carcass
Draining the remaining hope I had
Of finally make something of myself
I'll be another soul
Cast out of society
Ex convict with nothing to show
Just tattoos and stories from jail

Tonight I vow to forget your name
And drown your memory
In whiskey.
Tonight I vow to forget the way
Your lips tasted with
A pack of cigarettes.
Tonight I vow to forget your hands
And numb my own
With the cold.
Tonight I vow to forget you
For real this time
Like you forgot me.

She does not deserve you, your laugh, your smile.
Does she understand your soul like I do?
The sight of you two is repulsive, vile,
You cannot deny this I know it's true.

Your dubious joy her lies will undo,
I have watched her deceit time and again,
This you will eventually see through,
And all of her charades will be in vain.

Only my love can relieve your deep pain,
I have studied your ways for years on end.
Reflect in my eyes the truth you regain,
What makes you tick only I comprehend.
Always watching you I am so clever,
Our union of two together forever.

Obsession is a gun.
It points right to your head, willing to shoot.
It either glues your heart together or shatters it through.
You feel ecstatic, yet you feel blue.
It's an addiction, you were brought to.
Nobody gets it, you feel alone.

Your mind is scratched with a name that repeats itself endlessly,
It hurts to your core, it's also your ecstasy
No you can't grasp it, they're fake, they're souvenirs.
And by souvenirs, I mean they're *******,
You like it for a while, then put it on a shelf and in the end, dispose it.
It drains your time, you think it's real,
then in a month, you're done, it's sealed.
It starts confusion, you swear it's love,
you think it's happiness,
well, you are wrong.