"popov" poems
It's taking everything I’ve ever had,
not to crawl into the crevice between your arm and hip.
I want seep inside of you
and live with you,
like the parasite I am.
I’ve bribed to God to make you love me,
And bargained away my future sins.
I want to forget the golden retriever
You took on walks longer than our **********
And the way your body writhed beneath my touch
Like a body bracing for a car-crash,
And how with every kiss
I could feel your rigor mortis set in.
I want to read you poems about Kurt Cobain,
While we do ******* at midnight in Golden Gate Park.
And watch you have a visceral reaction
To the memories
Of the times you tasted someone else’s skin.
Instead I’ll
dye my hair black,
Cancel all my credit cards,
And run away to Chicago
to Cheapen myself
and reek of Popov
In a dive bar next to the railroad,
That no one’s heard of
so you can tell strangers
in the subway
and at the New Year’s party,
(at which you’ll meet your wife)
how much I’ve always meant to you
and how
You will always wonder what happened to me
(Even though
you won't.)
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 11:18 PM UTC
i never understood my mother until last year
she grows with me
discovering herself
as i discover myself in her
my mother chose to be in an arranged marriage
she chose happiness
she was convinced of a humble man
a caring man
a devote, dedicated man
but he was having an affair
her name was popov
she wore a red dress everyday
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
Sober again,
Sombre again,
paranoia creeps out
the closet again
little bit of panic,
little bit of Popov
lose a little pride
but control yourself
take hold, yourself
never let your thoughts wander
or you lose yourself;
don’t lose yourself
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
Gather all appropriate materials:
Pen or pencil
Or Popov
Or needle,
Or knife,
Whatever sin
Most suits you.
Make a list of every *****
Who has ever hurt you.
***** your finger directly
Onto the page, or
Write directly to the *****
Who last left you.
Dream aloud about the
Brown-eyed girl on
That Boston subway
Who got off two stops before you
(Who we both know would
Never have actually slept with you.)
Never tell yourself that
You're not as dark as you think.
Stop smiling and take
Another drink.
Yearn for the ones
You have lost.
Teach your demons
How to speak
And let them write your
Poems for you.
Aug 5, 2022
Aug 5, 2022 at 6:55 PM UTC