Posts Tagged ‘saying things’

ho boy, duh GEEDY GEEDY GEEDY

February 23, 2010

I’m gonna smack da happies into yer head

with a tennis racket strung with angel hairs –

hairs from actual angels and the pasta

and angel hair pasta made by angels

with hair and angel hair pasta

made from the fallen out hair of bald angels

and angel hair pasta made

by bald angels and angel hair pasta

made by hairs from actual angels

and angel hair pasta that is the offspring

of angel hair pasta mating with hairs

from actual angels and angel hair pasta

made by angels with angel hair pasta

for hair that are the offspring of angels

mating with angel hair pasta and angel hairs

from angels that are the offspring of angels

mating with their own hair and and and and and

.

Be happy, for you.

Words About Some Things

February 13, 2010

the articulated sounds I have made

to throw a blind dart at the target of

what happens keep falling short

and arcing away, my murder mirrors

and throat fires and gut strings

beat tiny fists against padded

walls crying to be heard,

beyond rescue.

.

there are things to say about time

and distance and irony that are being said

better than I will say them, I am tired

from pulling against formless

draw-and-quarter horses spurred

by cynics hungry for something honest

to be destroyed for the sake of

being honest.

.

the last thing I have left is

speechlessness when

an involuntary agh sighs

through a collapsing chest

and speaks volumes, hold

me.


Vertu

November 25, 2009

there are so many things I am trying to say

in one breath, about how many men

have carved their thoughts into

my breasts and left me an unfinished

story lying belly-up on beds and tables

begging for a merciful ending.

I don’t want this to sound like porn,

I want it to sound like every real

and aching thing you’ve ever

heard, I want it to turn your heart

inside-out and make you feel

fifteen again, tender and green

and without shame.

I want to hold every

dying thing in my lap

so it’s not alone, just in case

dogs and mice and pigeons

can tell the difference between

“something breathing is here” and

“nothing breathing is here.”

I want to drive north on Maurer

past the white house at the intersection

by the train tracks, roll down the window

and yell look what you’ve done, you fucked

us both up ten times over

then apologize and remember

I’m smarter and better now, so

I’m told.  I want you to see

the Tastee Freeze on the corner.

I want you to be there for it

and understand.  I want to

figure out where home is

so we can go there.