Wednesday, May 18, 2011

hello

Starting Over

what returns to me
is a map. i follow backwards
its pathetic little lines
that draw faces reaching out to me
faces i cannot place
oh it used to be simple
there were no lines to follow
there was infinite space
ever reaching
and i had movement inside of it
down, like i had illness down
but now you have to choose:
and with choice comes
death. yes, the ultimate
choice is to die. now
wait a minute before you
mistake this for a death poem;
it is not.
what hurt little happenings
tender their offerings to me
on minor streets
have garnered only a few more games
from my existence.
games are only here to
harness my willpower
and so they do.
the life that blankets stolen
moments that offer you
a glimpse of how and when and why
the music carries you, it carries
pictures and faces of yourself
jumbled up with those of friends
or those you used to be able to call
and now the living has gotten
the better of you. you put
both feet in and drive
these days, like anyone.


*


hatred permeates
my skin dripping
in a boil beneath
loved bones.
i cannot help the
pain i feel, yeah right:
just like i don't control
what music enters
my ears. some days
i do: some days i live to touch
rubbery sounds and force
starving syllables into
existence the way you
train a cow to produce milk.
i train myself to produce,
every day something new
like this piece of everlasting
coiling infinity, mute enough
with its advantages
no one can see, but me.


*


loverly beginnings imagine penetrate
and well that is no way to begin a poem:
you have to begin by name calling
and pegging with balls and all types
of other hurt that can be translated
under infinity's gentle guidance, to dance.

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