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Poems

COREY, THE END

iii.

I hear from you
Like a breath on a distant wind, like a mote in the eye you disturb and are barely there
Barely
And I ask if you are still alive
And you answer, “barely”.
And there is no answer or no repercussion for the diarrhea of your tongue
when you talked far too much and used me like Freud and Jung together while you told me a
nightmare parable of all your nonsense,
fractured dreams fractured and then made into fevered dreams of sex and longing.
I remember even when you were in the prison house,
you could barely put together sentences to say thank you,
send me more, you could barely find your reason.
And all I did it for was for the sentimentality of a bygone sea hut
and the sea washing against the old rock
All I did it for was the memory of kneeling on your cock
and riding you at six in the morning
And I would have done it over again
And then maybe I could have saved you and
We could have saved each other.
When you finally got out of the jail you called a home, for a day you looked at walls,
and then you boned in bathrooms and parks, against walls,
in darksome shadows of gas stations any man who would have you and kingdom come,
their will was done in a white trail of semen
And here you are again, thighs tired and asshole worn out, eyes blurred of all reason


You don’t remember the native dance because you don’t go back that far
The fathers of your fathers went to war so you could settle for the unexceptional beauty
and question nothing, and so nothing brought you here in whips and wheelings,
and tracks all down your arms the path of dealing with what you loved
that could not love you back.
 
It is sad, The whole thing is sad. Corey's real. And he's sad. But I enjoyed the poem and I'm glad you did too.
 

the things that we loved must be entered

I make love to you in my head at least ten times a day
Every night these days there is a moment when all I think is death, the grave dirt in my body and the end of things in yours
It is not sin, now and again, to drink strong beer and smoke
not to forget, no,
but to live,
my body is hot with spicy food and old wine,
and all the time I spent walking up and down the stairs doing laundry in my mother’s house, and now it’s time to give myself to water, and set down these rhymeless lines.
I’m writing all the time, raveling out an answer, no, I am not looking, only unpeeling.
Every night I type on electronic paper these stories and I expect conversation from you, thought from you, a little conversation, but you have nothing to say, only a sentence to write and not much else, and here I am, starving for the conversation of
all these things on my heart,
so I turned my back on this bullshit and went to sleep.


in judgement

We forgot the soul even as it sickened
Our banks are bad and our schools are too
The friendships that you knew you had
have failed like that plant near the window
And the world is sick and your heart is sick
and we are all inarticulate
And the workers have become robots,
and the season of the mad is prolonged
Because of what we have done
Or what we forgot to do,
youth blighted and turned old
What has sickened in the soul
and now is dying
This is the time of the Fimbulwinter
And this is the time of the Armageddon
This is the time when the gates of heaven
Are taken by violence
And in the end will we have the strength to stand
Or will we crumble,
dry like castles in the sand?
 
LAMMAS

i.

And just like that the year was closer to being done than it was to having begun
And this is the year we all hid out in fallout shelters
The snow and rain pelted us when last we met and now we sit in Lammas
Ninety degree days say
Halt all your foolishness, they sent down rain, and grey remains and water, water falling for Tailtiu’s funeral
Now is the secret hidden in sourdough and fizzy sweet wine
How god was here, she was here all the time, not in the offering of body and blood
But in all you eat, all that’s good,
every blessed thing that’s in your hand
The grace of the earth
The grace of the land
Jesus said the body is more than food and clothes and you are more than flesh
But a body with no food and no clothes is not a body
And a spirit that never knew flesh is just a breath

Think of earth and live in your head a little later
At Lammas remember the holiness of hands and feet and pussy and cock
Of jism and opening, closing and locks

And you are asked to believe in this bread.

Ah me, the virginity of bread
Oh yes, the rumbling overhead of more thunder
And she often wondered why her period came with the full moon and drained her like a vampire
If there was just a wire to tap into for more strength,
But instead of the strength I offer only rest, and the sad strange knowledge I gave you all I could give,
sometimes the exhaustion leaves you flat,
this is where the magic lives,
paid out in knives and teaspoons, strained through sieves, and we will not get to the beach this summer, we won’t get back again,
you listen to the doorman bitch, the doorman is your friend
he tells you all about his rights and how the things should be, but in the end you know that he…
He only speaks this way cause he is fragile as the sand and he will do just what the law commands,
just like everybody else

And you are asked to believe in this bread?
Before you think of rising from the dead,
begin by rising.
 
LAMMAS CONTINUED


ii

She gets her periods during the full moon, on this day everyone is slow and sluggish, we can hardly stay awake, wrapped in gray clouds, looking at stars through haze we can hardly keep away.
I keep forgetting to write these poems.
I made myself an egg sandwich but had to sleep
one half hour just to make it to the stove.

We make it through air like water boiling in a pot, and across the parking lot to the park where depressed grass and dried out fountains greet us, stare into the bottle green water and see beer bottles and old pipes,
old sinks and carburetors underneath the shallow wave,
a sad and ghetto lyonesse,
no mermaids left to save


iii

Now that you are home I can speak of the things
that once I could not say when faceless nameless
guards were reading every word,
when codes had to be used upon codes and
you thought I was candid,
didn’t know I cloaked everything in something else,
couldn’t speak of nights in dark rooms,
where I held your arms out, pinioned like a bird
upon a board
and the lines of our faces were like the traces
of mountains, fountains,
your mouth open in exclamation as I thought to kiss you,
but instead, in half darkness rode you out of the night,
brighter than day, hotter than heat,
the shaft of wheat that was your seed
exploding inside
And now we don’t have to hide what
those words mean

You inspire me
Though you don’t deserve to
You’ve been to hell
Well, how the fuck was the view?
I longed to touch you through bars and made keys from words
These ingenuities are the magic I have left to work

Nat King Cole sings:
“I fuck you for sentimental reasons”
I make up words to old songs
Commit these little treasons, to bring back life again.
I have not given up on making the new Jerusalem
Its just that now I know Jerusalem takes time
You are almost willing to give up
You’ve paid for your crimes and for the crimes of ten thousand others while barabbas walked away
pontius pilate grabbed white women’s pussies and they put him in the white house, and at least for now that’s where he’s going to stay
But I
Have no use for hopeless men
I don’t want to hear from none of them
I don’t want your grim predictions.
Defeat and despair don’t make us wise at all
And you my friend, aren’t witty just because you’ve lost your balls


It seems like only yesterday I was at the church of you, on my knees,
looking up while my mouth was full of cock.
You gave me more than I could bear, you really shocked me,
and I choked on all your crap,
mouth salty with your bullshit,
then went on to suck some more,
such foolishness is what we once called faith

When that sacrament passed, you fucked me in my ass,
and have not stopped fucking me since.
 
LAMMAS CONCLUDED


iv.

I am lazy as a lizard. Suddenly all my clothes are too thin, summer walked right out the door and autumn came right in,
it let us know it was not humble, it came on the backs of rain clouds. A man I once knew, fresh out of a prison, gets fucked in a park by some random fellow and when I show him a picture of an old lover he says, a five out of ten, but how can you rate someone based on a picture, and if he is a five, what in the world are you?

You cannot teach a stick or stone, but then you do not need to. You cannot teach a mind unmarrowed like empty bone, but then you shouldn’t try it all.
My heart longed for the fall, but my body is not ready, and I thought i’d get to the water again. I start to long for this global warming we’re all told is on its way, a tropical Indiana might be better than what the people say it will be
In the past I’ve longed for so much, but on a Sunday all I do is lust for is sleep.
I could sit here on this couch forever,
half yawn,
and weave all of this nonsense.
There were times when I had so much to say I filled up pages and what was there might have been good. Now these words come out as slow as turtles walking and if they are any good, I cannot say.
 
a revelation

I am almost feeling fine for the first time. I waited for peace, but the apple of the old anger was what met me
I am waiting for the flowering of you, but before we get there, the soil
everything fell apart and even as we put it together crumbled in our hands.
Sentiment breeds resentment.
Reason staggers and rhymes fail,
so we must look for truth.

Now seems like the end of all things, or maybe we simply long for the end of all things
Now we conjure up visions of the Rapture Jesus to save us from ourselves, shooters in malls, gunfights two rights and a left down from women buying discount bras, all the straws we grasp at, empty fountains filled with the blood of children.
Before this summer of the long Armageddon,
before this year where rich nations began to catch up with the sorrow of the world
was the time of towers when planes smashed through glass with the roar of trains and buildings crashed like…. buildings
and have you ever seen a hundred story building collapse down to its base?
We all have now,
men and women
leaping like ballet dancers
leaving hell and hoping for a heaven

And what do you do when the hearts of men
summon hell upon the the earth? They say pray
you say pray,
we sit and pray and light the incense and we chant into the uselessness of all our deeds. Patriotism,
war, marching seemed useful and all they did was nothing,
in the nothing of our silence.

Hush, let me sit with this ill feeling
In this rage and sickness we’re past kneeling
No meditation will bring us out of this, We are only getting our bearing, we are past looking for bliss

the world in all its wickedness is wearing every hope away
I cannot stay in the place of fine feeling

Unable to bring the lovely part, I brought the whole of me to the altar and it did not burn but simmered
 
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