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Jennifer Beetz Dec 2018
When last I decided
to make an end of it
and gather the bits
the pieces that gave
meaning to all of this-
the blooms pressed
in between the pages
of meaningful verse
the letters that undid
each and every curse
When last I decided
to let go of this madness
I wondered how much
love I had in reserve
and how much I could
finally squander
To let go of loves won
and lost, to cash in
the sum total of my
idiocy
This is what will feather
my coffin, blessed, as I
am foisted into
eternity
...and god opened up her legs
and said, "come, o come to me"
and yes, the believers flocked
like so many birds clinging
to a rock, faith a casualty
of a wave, of dumb luck
they said yes, yesyesyes
please and what the ****?
and god opened up her knees
and she let in all of the birds
and the flutter of so many
wings, yes they did they
pleased her and o my
and boy o boy and o ****
don't this feel nice and
god finally came
and the birds and the bees
and so many people just
like you and maybe me
they waited for more
because there's always
more and they waited
for god to breathe one
one last gasp, the unrolling
the tight fist unfolding,
the final gasp and
all things natural
and all things
unnatural, well,
they  continued to wait,
with little else do
to hear the final word
and
god let loose pretty much
each and every bird and
the way and the will
and the ungrasping
of all things let loose
on the world primed
for the final **** storm
yes!
and the world was covered
the world was smothered
in so much ****
yes!
and that was the way
and the will and so much
swill, goodnight and forever
******* (and you and you
and you) and that was pretty
much it, the world covered
in so much ****, get used
to it
The only thing missing
is a sore **** feeling,
a vague sense of
unwholesomeness,
and an unusually
urgent desire to
be alone

I prefer the honesty
of a good alley mugging
rather than these missing
moments stretched into
long hours of doubt

Never mind the endless
work of you figuring me
figuring you out

Was me, was you,
was too dark to tell?

Loves me, hates me
and which one of us
in this given month
is clearly going to
hell?

The men who have been
so big on honesty, well
they sure did lie a lot
and the sorting out of truth
from lies and the constant
refrain of I Forgot?

Frankly all of that
has left me cold and
the obtuse angle of your
constant accusations?
that too got awfully old

As I am dear- awful
and old
I want to make a
ring around the rosey
(a pocket full of poesy)
a lean tiny bit of me
LISTEN TO ME!
I scream
I care
I want to lie under
your every mistake
Love darling
(hands, darling
around your near
and dear throat)
You *******
you can't brag or even
gloat? your love means
not a ******* thing
and I was the last one
in on your hoax

That's okay
that's just fine
my wrists sticky
with someone else's
the halfhearted
coax of no particular
design

It is not the blood
that hurts; it's not
even the love trust
stuck in your throat

It's the absence of
all of that

That makes me gone
for good
Took a Jenny, did
you now? in your
whirl and twirl
of a gal?
Who's to say
what inspired you
or what made your
hands lay where they
lay? Took a Jenny
for a girl,
(didya now?
a swirl and churl)
Who's to say what's
done is done
(and what ya done
with a Jenny
so far away?)
took a Jenny
from a poem plain
as plain, Jenny in
field of rye? catch
a Jenny by the hook
and I? (**** a
Jenny)
didya now?) and
what came next
for this flattened
doll? the flattened
grain, the flattened
wheat, brown eyes
staring up atcha
through the kernel
through the germ
through the wasted
bits of seed
when Miss Jenny
tried to become

Something

Through the
chaff, porch side
laugh, (a gaff
a gaff A GAFF)
Jenny by one
leg one foot
Jenny stumbled
(Have you heard?)
Jenny caught herself
a bird

Jenny got done
with it (did she
now?) of course she
did and right next
to a cow! (Jenny
winked and so did
the milk weighted
pretty brown and
white and big
brown eyes
Jenny looked up
between the wheat
between the teats
Jenny got herself
done awfully
sweet
(!)

A ******

A love story

Done
A sad saw of a tune
worked on my nerves
always a bit too soon
(if not now then when?)
I am my worst friend
Saw saw saw
away at this tune
careful steps with
a hunk of beveled
glass
(easily clears the room)
If not mine then who's?
I drip onto the carpet
Red (red red red) as
my tune
Love and life comes
in drips and drabs
(I have marked
on a calender
my impending
death)
Soon
You hear the high-pitch yowls of strays
fighting for scraps thrown from the kitchen window.
They sound like children you might have had.
Had you wanted children. Had you a maternal bone,
you would wrench it from your belly and fling it
from your fire escape. As if it were the stubborn
shard now lodged in your wrist. No, you would hide it.
Yes, you would hide it inside a barren nesting doll
you've had since you were a child. Its smile
remind you of your father, who does not smile.
Nor does he believe you are his. "You look just like
your mother,"  he says, "who looks just like a fire
of suspicious origin." A body, I've read, can sustain
its own sick burning, its own hell, for hours.
It's the mind. It's the mind that cannot.

Nicole Sealey
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
A reprise a reprise
another slip slip knot
for these eyes to
memorize how to
undo the sort of thing
you likely will want
undone
A way out, a foot in
the door, no, I have
no intention of falling
into all of that no
matter how appealing
no matter what lack
of feeling (she does it
with her eyes shut
backing into that
snug happy corner
and all of that crap)
A reprise, a gouge
another cut on top
of the old familiar cut
a scar of a scar of a scar
NOT HERE NO, not
in this jar
(She says she says
I am not a potpourri
you can not seal my essence
in and then let go of me)
I have no shelf life no
time to consume go
and check the date
baby you are *******
years too late
I want to paint all of the furniture
Chinese red and lacquer the
living crap out of it
until my face
is reflected
in every
corner
drawer
and even
the bed
I will leave my face on every surface
so that even with his flights of
of knee **** denial, he will
learn the exact nature
of liver colored
shredded
torn
then
reborn
dread
I want to add another stanza
the kind that smacks a person
in the head, the back and flat
and dinosaur part where
his most stupid thoughts
are formed along with
his grunts and
pointed
opposable
thumb
dumb
that
is
But why bother when I can
simply move on
instead?
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
Laugh shriek quake
scream 4,000 miles
into your pillow
no worries dear no
one can hear you
here and anyway
grief makes a funnel
of itself and like an
abscess the entrance
is but a dot of ache
(like a smack that
doesn't really hurt)
that grows wider
into a deafening
wail you can empty
yourself here, just
keep digging until

Someone in China
drops dead ftom your
pain
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
I saw a fella on the TV today
I didn't bother to unmute him
(Why should I? No one bothered  to unmute me)
He spoke of the seven ways to
follow The Path of God and I am
sorry but I lost the thread and
with it the general idea I'm sure
of this because I consulted my cat
on the bigger issues you see and
By the time we looked up
he or someone who looked
just like him- The Path of God guy-
was trying to sell us life insurance
step one: lie and tell everyone it's your birthday
step two: if no one asks "What do you want for your birthday?" make a big scene, ask for a ride to the local posh loony bin, and then say, "Well, never mind... I'll live..."
step three: open one eye and see if anyone gives a flying ****
step four: when someone finally asks "So what the **** do you want for your fake birthday, you *****?" act coy and smile a lot
step five: point to the ceiling and kick him/her/them in the shins
step six: get them to agree that this whole thing *****
step seven: feign surprise when they ask you again "WHAT THE **** DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY YOU INSANE ****!?"
step eight: mention that a couple hundred bucks wouldn't **** you
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
I sit outside of a closed library
Due to certain citywide cuts
This library has been closed
Since June which comes
Nowhere near explaining
To me why the *******
Pulled in behind me
So much for taking a ****
Off my back bumper
Holy crap! Another one just pulled in front of me! I think I've stumbled into something very unsavory...
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
My hair grew another inch this
month and without your gaze
much less your permission
I wish you could wrap the
brazen red braids round
your fingers and yank at
my love for you, play with it,
then toss it aside like a broken
doll but then I remember
that's how I ended up here
on my broken *** and,
speaking of my ***, when
you asked if I had taken a
look lately and told me I
was disgusting?
Mighty big of you to
tell me you forgive me
for being hurt
Sorry usually makes
my hair fall out so
this inch without
your permission
is spectacular
I am functioning by rote
by automatic design
a cruel god put in
place, my dinosaur
mind
I eat, I sleep
I crawl forward
then back, not
a squeak from me
no motor purr
I do it naturally
as I watch the sun
across the wall and
set heavy in the
corner and then
like me, I watch
the sun crawl
back, ready
to leap
in the rhythm
of my heart
another bit
of automation
left over from that
first and all important
pointing of god's
finger
ready, set, go
Was in my heart
(was in my head)
Was in my throat
(I knew no dread)
Was on my lips
(and so I said)
Rolled off my
      tongue
I love you
(dead)

Too late, too late
(his heart turned
      stone)
I wanted him
(go home,
      go home)
In words, in deeds
(I should have
      known)
Goodbye my
      dear
(I'm all alone)
Each morning I listened
to him **** as he slowly awoke
I jokingly called it "surfacing"
and I, like any wary prey,
gathered my armor for the day
This man thrashed so hard
in his sleep he'd bruised me
dreaming of his mother
again
WHY I OUGHTA he says
and TO THE MOON ALICE
I say in my head
He weighed himself each morning
and grew to twice my size
as I inevitably dwindled to half
if only he would join a pack
and hunt better meat than me
But I was separated from
mother love long ago
So now I'm more like penned veal
barely a meal and this is what
saves me from the cutting machine

He has decided on therapy
a diet of sorts, as he learns to eat
but not swallow and it's much like
training a dingo to be a deer
who is smart enough to let
his garden grow even if one night
feels like an eternity, never having
felt the sting or the birth of denial
He gave me a lovely shell
shiny with abalone which
I promptly likened to a
shovel
He gave me a stunning
silk cape which I turned into
a winding cloth
When he presented me
with a brilliant green box
carved from the rarest jade
I thanked him for the
fancy sarcophagus

He showered me with love
so unrelenting it poured
down more sodden then
his tears
And his hundred adoring
glances?
I told him they were like
like the worms that will
one day live in my
bones

Today he brought me
a massive bunch of plump
white roses and from behind
them I heard him say, well
I guess these can be your
funeral wreath-
I sighed and waved him
away

Really, darling, must you
always be so *******
morbid?
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
Hey there you,
I have got
something (three
guesses) it is
something I bring
on the tips of
my toes,
whispering feet,
as I drop all
of my clothes
(Hey
there you!) my slip
slides slippery, lets
dear (let us suppose
it is in my heart
where all of this
love grows) all
about you I
oops! slides
past me again
and Oblivion
is a big pink
rose a slidey
slippery
bride- I am
married! to
what you
made me (and
dear please
make me)
anything
What she saw, it was better
than any TV, better even than
Marcus Welby and ever since
Quincy ruled that punk rock
music was the cause of death?
You can keep your fancy plots
and all of that mess
she said to the general public
from her window then pulled
her head back in just in time
for a quick breath

The TV stays on from habit
and anyway the sound it makes
even when the volume is off?
she can't explain its comforting
presence or how it feels like
an old friend who doesn't
criticize or ask for anything
ever or like a wife who was told
to shut the hell up long ago
and by some miracle she's
not said a single word since
like that, comforting and
silent and if she were real
instead of the electric air of
the TV set? well, our friend
would swear she's fat

(and also friendly, not a
smudge of malice)

Anyway the woman in the
window has had a lifetime
of that- malice, scorn, as each
year dropped off like a coin
in a purse with a hole

Stillborn

What an awful word

But there are moments
when life comes alive, not
so much in but always
outside

It's like waiting for her
favorite soaps

The TV shows the bloated face
of someone familiar, maybe
Rock Hudson or Doris Day
(she snickers who are they
kidding?) and she has never
met a single person who
came near to being that kind
of happy, she is certain
no one is that happy

Nonetheless she hears some
singing, sticks her head into
the breeze that carried the notes
to her- a skinny black woman
marches back and forth in the
park with an invisible baton
in her hand, belting out O
SAY CAN YOU SEE? WHAT
THE CRACK'S DONE TO
ME?

(yes, we can.)

The woman in the window
claps heartily while the one
in the park takes a bow
(O
WOW she heard me! both
of them think at the very
same time)

The park is full of action
just the other day she saw
one bag of laundry approach
another bag of laundry and
the first bag pulled out a gun
from one of his many pockets
while the second bag produced
what must have been money
and so one bag of laundry
sold a gun to another bag
of... I swear! she says
to Doris Day

And that's how it is any
old day, see? and how
much better it is than
TV?
I sit on a stone
grave next to
Truffaut's stone
tomb, breaking
the spine of a loaf
of bread and the
smell of sausages
stuck in our coats
and clothes and
even our heads

We break each
other (we break
each other's hearts
like that) without
words for love
We break each
other instead

It is Autumn and
the entire flat leaks
the radiator spits
on us as we don't
sleep and

In the dim light of
six am I hang my
half frozen body
out of a window
smoke a cigarette
and flick my ashes
on the pagan altar
below, littered each
morning with condoms
another rite of passage

Like spreading crumbs
on a tomb of a long lost
idol; without kisses
without warmth
all of that was
supposed or
imagined or
meant to come
from my heart

I traveled 6,000 miles
to find out he did not
carry my heart with
him but left it home
and unattended

We talked about this
breaking bread, the crack
between the living and
the dead

And just like that
all the world
dropped
dead
Okay, I brace myself, "okay" being a sort of mantra either spoken alone or placed at the end of every sentence with the lift of a question mark. I do try and keep this okay thing to myself, packed in my head along with other stuff, okay?
And so I stumble, verbally if not silently, okay okay (okay?) as I count down the minutes (25) when I absolutely MUST leave the house even if this time it is By Choice, For Pleasure, whatever that is. I'll call it Not Torture.
I haven't practiced removing the grimace for such a long time I fear it's stuck there.
I scared a Boy Scout earlier in the day and I swear I did nothing at all scary. I bet there will be Boy Scouts out there. Maybe not at the bar but at the Target. I've never seen a Boy Scout at the Target but one time my friend saw a Mormon in the parking lot. He was racing headlong toward him and he panicked, my friend, so  he blurted out "You are the devil." The Mormon was pretty upset.
By now I have to assume there are Boy Scouts everywhere and naturally I am scared to death. I assure you I can develop a full blown phobia over a matter of hours and that's when I try not to think about it. Well, you try not thinking about Boy Scouts! Especially after you've resolved to NOT THINK ABOUT BOY SCOUTS. Aversion therapy doesn't work in case you were gonna suggest that.
Can I sue the Boy Scouts?
How many minutes do I still have left?
Is it still legal in West Virginia to walk behind someone saying over and over again in either of their ears YOUR GONNA DIE YOU'RE GONNA DIE? I'm pretty sure they legalized it within the borders of NYC (even Staten Island, which surprises me). This was due to a statute made during the whole explosion of Performance Art.
How many minutes do I have left?
Why don't I get a prize, twenty bucks or something, for fooling everyone and convincing them I'm okay?
I thought it might be fun to share a typical journal entry, a tiny bit of my life... by way of introduction... it's a pleasure to meet you.
THIS is the epitome
this is the empty me
I revisit the cavern
to see the small
scrapings, pigments
pulled from my flesh
the child version of all
that was eating me
wheat colored stone
the chaff and the grain
rock against rock
the color of pain
the greedy green
chlorophyll, the part
and smart of my brain
YOU there and I point
a finger like a paintbrush
of despair, yellowed by
the sun and turned to
soup by the falling rain
WHAT sort of thing
could lift me out of this
forever wanting?
a red leveled plow
of your heart digs
at my veins
He is forever
mister dead set
blues for my
pain
You make the meat
of me, the ground bits
of flesh like so much
confetti-
Congratulations! dear
and all of that crap
mind the spatter!
make haste! as
the wheel spins
past the bladder
(This party *****!)
Cuz in Bawlmer "hon" is the highest and most respectful form of address...
You
who anchors yourself
to my side like a bayonet
a harpoon
You
without a
*******
clue
don't waste your time
trying to sponge up
such grime
You
will never rise to
such dizzy heights
of my kind of dirt
You
can wish it
You
can imagine it
what it's like to fertilize
the same flower
I do
You can dream
and who am I to
stop you?

In your fairytale of hurt
I am meant to be the first
casualty

That's how each garden
on earth will surprise you

(and) Me

Me!

Gone of all want
and catastrophe!
laying the drama at your
feet is the best I can do
for we

You
are a made for TV drama
scarce and scared dear
Me and me (and
me)

Our garden
In breath
(Out breath)
And again
And again
12,000 more times
until sweet sleep
Overtakes you
Death is stupid
Life is somewhat
smarter (or so
it is presumed)
Think about it-
what a chicken
missing its head
might be thinking
NOT MUCH
"To begin with, all my boyfriends
need to be named Anthony-
are you okay with that,
Anthony?"
from the look on his face
well, he doesn't look exactly
okay with it so I try to reason
with him, point out how ******
his current name is and how
being called Anthony should
come as a great relief ("Right
Anthony?")
and now he looks to be
in bargaining mode so
I stop him before he wastes
any breath- "No, we're not
gonna settle for Tony- Tony's
worse then the name you
need to get rid of." and
just like that he jumped
out of my car at a red light
which you might think
would surprise the crap
out of me but nope-
he's the third Anthony
I've lost this week and
it isn't even Friday
We had mixed
reality we had
too many pairs
of feet running
through the
alleyway we
done been
had that
(gimme)
arranging pebbles
we pretend are
pretty you
and me had
swinging arms
held hands stared
up through the
beetle chewed
leaves gossamer
when the sun
winked we had
the **** and
Jane of it the
Spot and Kitten
and a sedan
smack full
of it see?
we were too
brutal to run
around unarmed
(pretty pebbles
all at once
OW) we had
life! by the
ears dropped
on our heads
mother worry
don't pay the
rent we knew
everything and
worse except
each other
saving that
big hurt
for later
NOBODY bothers me!
said the kid on TV
learning karate and
then HEY KIDS!
OFF OF THAT COUCH!
WHAT'RE YOU TRYIN TO DO
RUIN IT!? You see
most of our local TV
was produced by drunks
the kind you swivel
your head and see
in your own living
room- yeah, HIM!
The ******* your
mother let in when
having a weak a
drunken moment
*******, yup
HIM and so happens
the same year we learned
the Easter Bunny had
broken his leg (no
candy, GET IT?
for youse or youse
eh, and plenty of
***** for im) was
the way we learned
all about wealth and
worth and giving up
even a square yard
of turf and *******
******* we will
never call you
Daddy, another
******* has that
name and he got
there first
when I told my father
"I wanta go
to art school"
well
he flew into a
rage- having been
there himself and after
******* in a wooden
box for four years
(with NOTHING
to show for it)
I dunno, maybe
I was drunk
or maybe I hated
him as much as I do
now but it sure made
a good joke
many years passed
and having not
committed suicide
before it was too
late I went to off
to get my degree
in philosophy
HAH!
The dumb candle
you huddle your
fingers your hands
around, the one
that warms your
face is just as
dumb as you
or would it be
more likened to
ignorance,
you and your
dumb flame
absent of fear
from any sort
of breeze or
something
more severe
clinging to your
randomness your
Don't Open This
Until My Death
Letter pressed
to your chest
free from any
plan it's in
God's hands
(candleless, bloated
with a warmth from
within)
At a quarter to two
they murdered the
fool who dared
suggest that God's
plan is no plan
at all and the prime
mover moved only
because the rents
were too high
and you,
one dumb breath
away from freezing
from living or
dying
You do not have
that endless ride of
of flesh imbedded in
your muscle memory
nor what a cold tomb
nature and humanity
provide for the living
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
Sometimes I see myself
from above, like in a
surgical theatre (and what
a nice sounding place, like
maybe you might see
some Beckett or even
a musical) but no
only the sound of
bones under a
saw and the light!
is way too bright and
the steel gleams
with a music all
its own
(a speculum
against the side of
a metal bowl, the
chorus of prying
me open from
far away, like
a train passing
caught in a
breeze)

I want to scream but
my words come out
all funny and sprayed
with smiling nurses
overcome by the
sound of suction
(I pass into death once
once more as someone
finally closes the
door)

(I wonder to myself
how long have I had
all of these extra parts
and pieces and how
did they stay in place
me, this jigsaw puzzle
all undone?)

I am under a press that
guides my blood and fat
into a doll with arms and legs
that move (see?) just like
you

I am under a mirror
held in place by thin
and green stems- I fall in
and then out of my cage
of consciousness, like
a braid

I wonder, my slippery words
(are they inside or outside of me?)
WHERE ARE THE FLOWERS?
at the end of the stems
the last word, a gust of a word
smiling nurse hovers close
to my ear (there are)
none
I live in a palace
of broken glass
ten times, one
hundred times
I land
I land on
my broken ***
O Daddy
o daddy
why did you
******* me
like this
ten times
one thousand
times, a broken
dish, reflected
you me YOU ME
ah f
and so
each time you
did this to me
I became the child
you abandoned
again and
again
I've grown to
despise holidays
because the include
you and all of your
solid assurance that
I'll keep your secret
Daddy I cannot bear
to be anywhere
near you
you wreck me
you break me
into these f
ing
prisms
and so the only way
to lose you is to lose
all of the pieces of
me
F* YOU
DAD!

(Merry Christmas
so...)
(it seems Hello Poetry is censoring my poems so I'll just go ahead and do the censoring for them? I've always had a ***** mouth but I believe these four letter words have a place in poetry, they really do, especially with regard getting across a certain way of speaking, idioms, and all of that good stuff)
Meh darlin' doth
meh faencie,
in aul hes waeys
quite daencie;
I gav 'im meh
charm an op
theh mountain
of hes arms,
then doon theh
ledder uv hes
romaencin'
I tried to write this with my friend's Scottish accent, that is to say phonetically- no offense intended.
You darling
Me failed
Failed of all
grammar
Failed from
within
Oof oof
Me darling
You caveman
And I'm assailed-
You with your
tuxedo grin
and me with
my crinoline
(Dance dance
dance away
from him)
Away from
Averages that
Don't average
If you know what
I mean (darling
Death hurts less
than to take it
on the chin)
Inwardly I am regal,
like a satin swathed
silent film star
starry eyed
rain on my bed
no more stars
stricken by my
weather
inside
My teeth shall remain
lodged in my formerly
pretty face
It's all done up
in chintz
(myself and my
deathbed)
Set the radio to
Frank Sinatra
Pour a tumbler
of scotch and
swallow the
pills
the only thing
missing is my
coffin

Who knew, then
I would have to
*****, crawl on
my elbows toward
a not so well appointed
toilet?

Not at all ready
for my close-up
Jennifer Beetz Dec 2018
I've lost my mind
Dear I've done it
In three quarter
Time dear I've
Lost myself to
A waltz a sallly
A few mincing
Feet in an alley
To you dear and
I don't care dear
Even a dirge feels
Right, all my love
Buried in a box
Have no fear
My love is like
A Hallmark card
Shoved in drawer
Like that and no
Further
Dear
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
Sometimes it seems I go
straight from shaking so
hard I can barely fit my
key in the lock
to shut the door
to close out the world
to finally letting it all
slide to the floor
Sometimes I go straight
past GO and I forget
to collect myself or
anything else into
a plausible picture
to fool myself
to fool everyone else
to drop knees first
onto my pillow
Sometimes it seems
I plan my big sleep
I plan it while I'm
still sleeping
to collect the pills
to neglect the bills
and watch the sun
go round from one
side of the house
to the other.
Jennifer Beetz Nov 2018
I have made a
totem out of
pure want out
of the empty
extended hand
as if my veins
and sinew
are knit
together,
two long and
awful strands
my bones
are the needles
that hold this
thing together
(knit one,
perl one
I am one
dropped stitch
after another)
ha! a sweater
with no holes
for arms or
hands and
not even for
my head
I've sewn myself
together, a straight
jacket and the meat
of me, one long
and continuous
dread
Jennifer Beetz Dec 2018
I don't see
how else I could see you
from the top of your head
to the ends of your toes
knees swaying between us
you hold yourself quite
frozen in that pose (sad
to think you do this for me
while I would prefer you
to pull yourself together
at least to your full height)
I don't know
maybe I wouldn't even
recognize you, straight
in the face
(like that)
One and one and (that thing
behind your back) makes me
minus two or even sometimes
three
You times ten then half
the negation of five cats
one ******* itself half
to death and one
buried in the yard
under the Buddha and
the one who said NO
THANK YOU does
not equal we
Last year does not
equal next year
no matter how many
beets push through
the dirt especially
when Miss Invitation
to Death bashes the crap
out of everything with
the back of a shovel
(nope, nowhere near)
making quick work
of me with nine tenths
left behind (not on
purpose and none
of it rhymes (not on
purpose plus one tenth
of the part of you that
is good does not equal
Should or Would or
even Could) none
of it, not me not
you and If stands
for Infinity, not ours
someone else's
(******* times four
equals another *****
banging on her knees
knock knock not me
10,000 times goodbye
is why I left the keys)
Each love is a love
for the ages, as is yours
and like any dutiful lover
you add your sorry sapped
words to the sorry sapped
pages
Yours! more grand than all
the rest! convinced of this
or even worse, yours is
devine, or maybe a curse
Either way when your lover
joins the out going tide, when
dear friends tell you of all
the other fish in the sea?
First of all, you were just
enjoying the ride
Second of all, these marine
and moronic metaphors
make you feel like
you've eaten a bad oyster
and her love, out of season
is all the worser
What I wanted
For a home,
This artifice
Bone for
Bone
Thankful
When the creak
Of winter breaks
It's hold and
Thin green
Stems
Hide the broken
Parts
Home
How unwanted like
a wave good-bye a wave
hello, cupped hand of
a beauty queen or a
sailor scanning the
horizon where did
he go?

How unwanted like
hot distilled breath a
wave on my neck knocks
me *** over tete GET
UP GET UP GET
UP you there

Dripping ice and
cold arms full of
regret not me
dripping
wet a fishy
grasp an untamed
gasp of o so clammy
o so breathy death
is this (death)?

How unwanted (finished
dear) tepid pretend tea
party yes! let's have one
let's pour our hearts
out here

You floored me before
I could even get up the
smack of you to fill
my cup let's do it
simply (even) coldly
just one more time
let's
Ah but I am so
****** hungry
Dontcha know
Licked lips
Drop of drool
I swell with the
Smell of toast
Butter swirled
With honey
(Honey)
Slake my hunger
For you
Not so much
But it will have
   to do
Jennifer Beetz Oct 2018
I am Hegel I am Rilke
I am a bruise wearing
a shoe I am Castaneda
I am Philip Roth I am
what's for dinner I
am the underside
of you
I am Sybil Sheppard
pretending to be Sartre
while De Beauvoir
pretends to be
vichyssoise on a
spoon
I am your Last Great
Chance left to the seat
of your pants, anonymous
parlez vous anything
(You)
I am a pentimento
the umber of your
umbrage all about
me and (you again)
you
I am the Part Three
of your Part Two the
ever growing closet
of not me a bruise
looking for the toe
of a shoe comment
dites vous *******
just *******
I don't know why I
stopped whatever
I was doing, likely
nothing, which is
hard to stop
doing
But I did, I
even stopped
moving my hands
and spent a moment
not recognizing them
like a word said over
and over again until
it sounds foreign
like detergent
de... ter... gent...
detergent
detergent
detergent
O yes, that was it
I stopped saying
detergent
and
I looked over at
the mulberry tree
the very moment
it dropped each
and
every leaf
soundlessly
no rustling, not
even a breeze
How fortunate
to shut up long
enough to bear
witness to such
things
I have no idea what does
or does not grow in those
sorry patches once full
of hope, the ones I checked on
everyday, waiting for the first
bit of green to push its way
out of the earth as if to prove
something about my worthiness
my optimism, even in the face
of all that other decay
I don't believe he ever
took a look, kept his face
pointed the other way
sure of disappointment
but like a kid who can barely
wait for Christmas he waited
for a garden that pops up
all in one day, along with
a woman that transforms
over night, not the one
he went to sleep with
but someone so much
better
I've always had the hope
that in my absence my
gardens flourished,
even went crazy with
green and vines and
fruits and flowers,
so many flowers
and even with the next
one coming behind me
and bashing the crap
out of everything that
sprouted, that's okay
I imagined always the
following year and
and the one after that
in the event she was
still there, the blooms
coming back in spite
of all her efforts to
**** them
and if flowers could talk?
what else could they say
but, Lady, give up-
she will never go
away
The way you smile
at me, almost six feet
above the floor, you
there, plus six inches
more (how clever
walking on your
hind legs and
all)

And I do, I do
I like to look up
at you

And when gravity
overtakes me?

Well you do, you do
you like to look down
at me

At your service dear
just feed and water me
trusty houseplant, a vine
of a thing

And you my trusty
tree of a man
feet like roots
I like to stand on
when we dance

(We have never
danced)
I need I need I need (let
me repeat I NEED)
your **** between
my thighs I need
to feel your hot and
heavy breath between
my sighs I need
your fingers in my
*** and in my
****** baby like
a bowling ball
I will roll quite
heavy slam me
right into the
wall
I need you I need all
every bit and even
the hell of you
even your empty
voicemail piece
an automated I DON'T
GIVE A **** I need
I need your *******
face
****
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