three times we pressed the rose quartz
back you twice I just the once
because you did the cheap adhesive the only stone
what wouldn’t stay
nighttime she drops a final click
and I leave her be
off the charts
like she wants
D says letting it be
means to work at it
rateyourmusic reviews for Radiohead’s Amnesiac, page 4, [Rating55626388]
the crying minotaur
Make no mistake,
one way streets, alleys, and dead ends
are trapdoors that
Might Be Wrong.
(labyrinth), devour us.
an unreachable state of utopia
of society by society for society
is worth the price of admission
to be thrown out of order
the flow starts to
gain momentum in
Its self-destructing nature
the above mentioned event
A TOURIST IN YOUR OWN COUNTRY?
NO FEAR. THE RUINS A REMINDER
OF YOUR OWN SOUL. THIS ENDLESS
DOCUMENTATION BOTH CAUSE OF
AND CONCERN FOR DOWNFALL
OF AN EMPIRE.
BETTER AS MOSAIC
IN THE END:
the stink of wealth, or blood
you are a freshly-minted dollar,
your copperhead eyes, the stink
of wealth, or blood;
Osho was obsessed with toads and
the sound of clear springwater.
I am obsessed with lying
about poets I barely know.
you taste like lily-pads feel.
cool and glabrous.
nice things that can be said about you:
your mottled lips are hairless.
your body is
mostly devoid of scales.
you breathe like mud and
daybreak dappled across old trees.
amphibian means you live
in both the dry land of my longing
and the puddled wet of desperation
the clammy eel-wet feel of disappointment
WE MISTOLERATE YOU! THE THINGS YOU
PUT US THROUGH TASTE LIKE EQUAL PARTS
COUGH SYRUP AND PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE!
WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH, OUR BELLIES FULL TO
BURSTING WITH HACKNEYED APOLOGIES,
SLIGHTS OF NEGLECT, DEEP-SET LONGING!
WE FAIL TO SEE THE SENSE IN BEDDING DOWN
ANY LONGER WITH THAT WHICH WE DO NOT
TRUST! WE FAIL TO SEE THE SENSE OF RIDING
(THOUGH YOUR HIPS BE AS COMELY AS ANY)
A HORSE DEAD FROM THE BEGINNING! WE ARE
LIKE TO TRUST NONE AFTER YOU HAVE HAD
YOUR USE OF US, YOUR SORRY TALES OF NOT-
GOOD-ENOUGH SITTING IN OUR CRAWS LIKE
A FISHBONE WITH NO COMMON COURTESY!
HOWEVERMUCH YOU LINE YOUR EYES WITH
THE VERY NIGHT IS IMMATERIAL! HOWEVER
SWEET YOUR WORDS, YOUR SYCOPHANTIC
NATURE, THE BEGUILING TOUCH OF YOUR
SLEEVE! WE ARE GRANTED NO REPRIEVE
FROM THE CLAMMY EEL-WET FEEL OF YOUR
ONE HAS TO LEARN. ONE NEEDS TO CLASP
THEMSELVES CLOSE IN ORDER NOT TO LOSE
THEIR WAY. ONE NEEDS TO LOSE YOU, AND
QUICKLY. THIS IS THE STRENGTH FOR WHICH
WE ARE WEEPING. THIS IS THE NIGHT FROM
WHICH WE MARCH.
a shaft with no elevator
you scare me, dearest:
because you produce terrorist jokes
like the bombs you are supposed to make
about your Arab lineage
because you keep late nights and
later replies and failure to respond
can mean at best someone’s dropped
your phone in vodka
because falling for you is
a shaft with no elevator—
is opening my front door and discovering
that concrete sidewalk has been replaced
with deep abyssal void
but still I ride you like roller-coaster,
strapped to my scares,
because nothing bad can happen to a writer.
(you bring me places I’ve only been
in the shadowed alleys of bookshelves)
with you terror
is what we paid for.
sacrifice and some say salvation
salt all the entrances. lay out the blood sacrifice. wind back all the clocks. this gives you time to hope. no matter what – don’t hang up.
you pray the pentacles
you’ve chalked next to your keyboard
is no price too high
for internet speed?
Part of SingPoWriMo’s poetry challenge for Day 22 (obviously, numbers don’t mean much to me): write a liwuli, an ‘ancient Southeast Asian verse form’ of absolute beauty and esoteric nature.
[a liwuli is composed of: three stanzas:
an imperative prose poem – 31 syllables;
three lines of any length – 14 syllables;
two lines of questions – 10 syllables]