E A Bookish

E A Bookish Mar 2016

Ragged the origami crane
The china shop, the bull,
Bleeding and tired on the floor
The bull, covered in porcelain –
Just fall asleep and become a statue

This is spontaneous so don’t ask it to make sense

Bitten in half the book
That says it knows it all
Bitten in half the beautiful rose
“Now I am ugly” It says,
“Now I am more beautiful”
-
I’ve never been thanked
For destruction before

Ragged the lace of your dress
Sorry I did that,
Sorry I didn’t do it more
Wreckage as modern art
Spit on it and call it modern art
That’s an insult, by the way.

Rummage in the ******* of history
The China shop, all shot up
Mobsters of words ruining everything
Just don’t wake the bull
Don’t say the word
“Beautiful”

****, I turned the radio all the way up
The news:
Here is a terrorist bomb
Here is a tax hike
Here is a ****** in a suburb
Here is the weather
-
And I could still hear you over it all
“Beautiful”

I crumple folded paper in my hand
Walk over broken plates
Bleed beautiful for you

You’ll take it and
You’ll love it and
I’ll hate you for it

The blood on the crumpled crane and the bull
This is a joke in the making
But I'll only let the punchline brush your lips
I won't let you taste
I'll make you bite and lick
I'll let the punchline give you bruises

The blood on the crumpled crane and the bull

E A Bookish Mar 2016

Desire no. 4

Desire is a spiraling staircase in a lighthouse

You want to get to the top
You want to hold the light
-
Or do you need to hold the light?
Want, need, they are the same thing here

It's miles to climb
But when you reach the top
Lungs and legs burning
Head dizzy with the circles

You will be crowned, triumphant

E A Bookish Mar 2016

Desire no. 3

If desire is the cause of all suffering
It is also its end
When you can kiss the bird you hold in your hand

But this all depends on what you want
Maybe you want to touch the back of the sun
Maybe you want to understand history
Maybe you want to know why you are
-
These things are impossible
You will suffer for these desires

But maybe you want someone to smile and hold your hand
Maybe you want to travel somewhere new
Maybe you want to be a better person
-
These things are possible and
The suffering of desire need not be indelible

There is no dark horse of passion
There are only horses,
Waiting on the field of desire

So pick the one you ride and
Go find yourself a sunset

E A Bookish Mar 2016

Desire no. 2

Three people are walking towards you
They are all dressed in red
One is covered in blood
One is covered in tomato soup
One is covered in their own heart

You cannot tell which is which
Or who will reach you first to collapse
Or who wears their red best
-
But you realise
They all look pretty good in it

You'd sleep with any, all of them
If they asked
Maybe only so you can ask
Which of the slippery red is which

And then you will be painted
In soup or
In blood or
In heart

Maybe then you'll find what tastes better
Maybe then you'll find
Which red suits you best

And this is the question you want answered
-
Which red suits you best?

E A Bookish Mar 2016

Desire

Desire is a small bird in your palm

You want to pet it, but you also want to crush it

You are the adult who wants to *** in the swimming pool
Who wants to eat the whole cake
Who never wants to wake up from a dream about flying

Desire is a small bird with the sharpest of beaks and claws

It's telling you you'll never be innocent
You'll never get over it
You'll want everything too fiercly
And you're not fooling anyone

Desire is a bird in your palm, who dares you

To crush it
To stuff it in the back of the closet
To bury it in the yard
It dares you to say that
You do not contain desire
It dares you to do something about it
Sharp of beak and soft of feather
Whisper-sings coercion until you
Are nothing but a conduit for sensation

Desire is a small bird in your palm
That will not fly away
And if you strangle it between your fingers
You will find that
Desire is not a small bird in your palm
It is a haggard vulture in your chest.

E A Bookish Mar 2016

Young Sade (A Self Portrait)

Young Sade

I am:
Combustible
Volcanic
Excitable
Fractious
Perverse
Hotheaded
Impatient
Convulsive
Agitated
Passionate
Alonebutnotlonely
Animated
Secretive
Tempestuous
Imprudent
Enamoured by the opposite extreme of everything,
Easily exhilarated
And when despondent, profoundly so
A minimalist who wastes words on purpose
And harbours private contempt

BUT I AM NOT MURDEROUS
Nor of savage intelligence
Though I am of disorderly emotions

I am a libertine
I am a socialist
I dine with Marie Antoinette and execute her also

I am in love with my own contradictions, and have no shame.
I do not fear failure, because when I am beaten I will become
Brecht’s Hero
I am wise enough to value ignorance
Even as I spit at it when I find it in myself
I love the divine in the mundane
I am a pitcher, and a catcher
I am innocent and evil
An immortal child

I love cats and blasphemy and 1000 and one nights of debauchery
I believe that nothing is forbidden by nature.

I am a mellow atheist, shrugging my shoulders at spiritual enlightenment
A PERSON WHO THUS FAR HAS NOT BEEN REDUCED TO GROVELING LIKE AN ANIMAL BEFORE THE ALTER OF COMMODITY FETISHISM AND PROFIT-
And I do not intend to.

I could eat the world
Hold it all in a deathly grip
Whatever paint with which my heart is brushed
I become a superman and prince
And raise the bar of feeling great
And I admit my mistakes
If only to the dark-
But I bear my teeth
And smile like I’m crazy
Posing for the portrait that they’ll carry past my grave.

E A Bookish Mar 2016

Crown

Here is the crown – take it
I don’t want it anymore
It’s shiny but it’s heavy and means you can never be
Alone
But you always feel it,
Alone
It means you need two hearts
One light, and one dark
One for loving and one for killing
And it’s all just too heavy
It only means a poisoned chalice,
A war declaration
It’s supposed to make you closer to a god
But only a god that dies
And does not come back
Except in ******-mystery novels
You’re much more suited to this
So just take it
Rule the world and I’ll be happy in my hovel
Take it, before I drop from all this sorrow