somebody somebody sent this to me

Poetry
You reverse me
Endless gravity sinking into sun
Of mindless thoughts
Thoughts of their own little minds
To shelter me from diseases
Which I lift and drink in.

Oh death, I crave you—
But I do not allow myself time to sink in
What dearth does not remember
The lifting of its brew
Cannot, should not are the features
Tremulous stones thrown down to the bottom of me
What mishap shapes this face
Crayon bicycle nervous system
A toothy miracle spitting systems
And staple yourself to yourself.

Fruit of wisdom
Cries full of nutrient
Element of deathly decay
Shelter in roaming lethal concrete
And I suppose you want more out of me
That is fine; what does not cling to earth
Vanishes into your words and your breath.

So write about him:
There is nothing to say.
Don’t think about him;
He will come out anyway.
His name flits around in silence
And his face hemorrhages in the dusk
You cannot know what his map
Has blistered into your skin
There is no system for understanding
A rope that he has strangling
Tooth by tooth, your words
Your mirror of yourself, and your fantasy
Which don’t meet up anymore
Elastic and undrinkable.


What doesn’t touch is
Still capable of hurting.
This is an easy concept:
Pain which mirrors I guess
Some soap of destiny
And made up words which offer
A route to fantasy
And cups of soda to level
Your thoughts into green gray day.

First I will wake up
And then I will fall back asleep.
And then I will begin my day:
Falling into endless pattern
Repeating smoldering movements
And stapling myself to the day’s edge.

That body you left alone with him.
That body belongs in his bed.
That body does not belong to you,
Or to him, but it lays in his bed
Motionless, and crying for energy
Listening to horns and music in the night
And saving itself for death and ruin
Where it knows how to begin again.

What gets saved up
In the little remainders of what was once
What was once, and is now unsayable.
What and where it gets placed
And how it may rise
And how and how
The unsayable and the outside of understanding
Comes up to speak its bleary hello
And sink its fathoms into a blue face
Which is either your face or the sky
And which you no longer tell the difference from
And which now owns you and your thoughts.

There is a line
We draw
We walk over it
We sometimes dance over it
We like to breath and watch our breath
Wiggle towards the other side
Where a pair of eyes wait
Are they our eyes?
They are always our eyes.
They are his eyes. But still they are our eyes.
Because what can breathe without you?

This is outside of emotion.
This poem does not have an emotional happening.
It will run its course only in words.
It can speak only in dictated sounds.
And you will understand it by rote memory.
And as it forces its way into your mind
Remember, that you were once forced
Into being as well. So you have that in common
With a poem.