Don’t listen And not to be contrary But so that you can really hear Because when we focus on listening Drastic distortion Valour’s whip The strain confounds aurally Open up to the forms Waving in and out Learn to be and you’ll see , hear , all that Crisp and tender In the lower jaw, throatish area Kind of lysergic, if y’ve been there But really, really learn to listen
For some reason I felt compelled to share with others, strangers I guess, I never met them. Strangers then. Compelled to share with them you. To prove to people who never knew us that I loved you. That we were lovers. I wonder if I harp on that word too often. Bet I do.
I connected the misery of your loss into The Antlers - Hospice. In some cowardly preoccupation with signaling the virtues of a luminous man I pretended in due process. Much of me as you must understand.
You were a woman and a girl. And I forced myself under to suffer in some actual mourning. So a world built on my word. My hands need rest. My mind needs rest. I want to stop.
I'd swallow a breathful of Plath-itudes. If it'd quieten the lore of some rolling hill of you. Somewhere scrawled in a red oak desk, Borders and plyings a mess.
I likened you to a spectre. For a literal in lieu
Why can't I let up off myself. Why won't I accept love.
You are the woman protagonist in a fiction And only your performance merits applause.
listened to The Antlers - Hospice while on LSD and wrote this poem about a darling woman i abused and lost
Lucy is so electric Her skin is paper perforated dripping with her liquid blood Her love is like the world hard and true Deep black eyes and lips are plumes of color that bleed through themselves and back again She is restless in my skin and pulses through my flushing face Smiling and connecting all things When I kiss her It all melts I can't see and can't spell I can't tell time And I'm okay with dying