page 1: "with grey hair and yellow skin in bags"
page 3: "my roommate's lover killed herself"
page 4: "all that intensity in your poems"
page 6: "Throw away your John Lennon biographies"
with grey hair and yellow skin in bags
i walk to the school
and stand in front of 900 students
shivering.
a small girl stands up shyly and says
"i live in a sad house" and "i want to make it better"
she shows me a picture she's drawn
crooked, wrinkled, it looks more like a map than a building
"i am sorry but i cannot help you", i say
"you are alone in a sad house now
and you will grow into many others"
i nod slowly
i'm right
i'm doing good
another child stands up with a gun
"i live in a house that is angry" he says,
and "i want to destroy it"
"you will", i say,
"and many others as well,
one more than the number you build"
i give him a cold stare
and shiver
i'm right
when the afternoon is done the children file out
their teachers leading with pursed mouths
"hey kids"
i say
"don't take methamphetimines"
the littlest one says okay.
like a baited hook
i sank
take another
don't forget to
nevermind
it doesn't matter
let's talk about
yeah you can borrow that
into my skin
and i got pills for that too
bees dying in the hot sun
tried looking out for everyone
i'm so scared of the
heavy heavy
my roommate's lover killed herself
somehow, i don't know
and my roommate lived for three hundred days
on nothing but rice and wine and silence
oh i miss you when it's quiet
so i keep the music constant
i don't go out to see what people do
because i feel in my heart
that i know already
and i don't like it
yeah what's good, baby
you are, you
scattered days
when i don't believe it
are the lasts, almosts
and i curl up
no matter what
and pursue that tattered dream for us
how many are counting on this
counting on these
we keep
stitching up the seams
for what?
like yesterday, i saw your face
every crowded room is doubt
each noiseless moment is
screaming assurance
spine and legs and hair and neck
mind mind mind mind
why did i leave you,
why did i leave you to die
who am i kidding
when is the next plane
home
all that intensity in your poems
is weird.
i don't want you to feel that for me,
dottie
i don't want you to write those things anymore. i want you to forget it.
i don't think you know who i am at all,
dottie.
i think you're confused
i think you read too many books
dottie i understand that people like them
but they're not positive things
and it makes me uncomfortable that people might know they're about me.
"they're not about you."
"they're about me."
i think you need help
let's drink coffee
we need something to watch
so what did you do while i was gone
i'm writing a book
what's it about
you wouldn't like it
deep brown
i feel warm
i smile
you wouldn't like it, don't worry
it's just what i want to do
i don't want to show it to you, not yet
you can see it if it's done, i guess
you're not going to like it
i smile
deep brown
we fondle each others arms and hair
the safe parts
you want to kiss me and say something crude
a let down, it's over
i look into my coffee
deep brown
grin
make a face
look off to the side
you brush the hair away from my eyes
and don't say anything right
we make some jokes but already separate
i let you touch me more than before
it's okay, i've decided now
when you leave i feel bleak and awful
and get a lot of things done.
Throw away your John Lennon biographies
Throw away your young girls
Mix with your own generation
Tie on armbands tight
Spend nights low among the floorboards
Wear your hair
Like your only true love died an unfair death
Fight for something, dammit
If you tire of naustalgia
There's always suicide.