November 8, 2009
something eric wrote when he shoulda been working
At the zoo,
with a camera,
capturing like a poacher.
I tell a woman and her daughter
to go into a monkey cage, where the animals rape
them; I'm brilliant.
Who are you to say
I murdered
to extinction?
The spectator's
revulsion
was symbolic
like sex
in marriage and killing
by electric chair. But it still hurt.
I think
of myself as an artist,
ya know?
You wouldn't expect it, but the lions
are the easiest to photograph.
with a camera,
capturing like a poacher.
I tell a woman and her daughter
to go into a monkey cage, where the animals rape
them; I'm brilliant.
Who are you to say
I murdered
to extinction?
The spectator's
revulsion
was symbolic
like sex
in marriage and killing
by electric chair. But it still hurt.
I think
of myself as an artist,
ya know?
You wouldn't expect it, but the lions
are the easiest to photograph.
November 3, 2009
Hey! I want to show y'all something..(I wrote this during Composition! (!!!!) )
"People prefer what they see first..."
He said.
I wanted to talk but had nothing to say.
One hundred million hearts will beat together as
one
"Sweep the fireflies under your net!"
He said.
But I clutched at the cloth
And breathed in its brown soil
What are the secret possibilities of trees?
Their whispers control me
even in my sleep.
"The word love should never be written down,"
my Father told me.
Still, I think of the things that have ended
and their clinical ways.
The heart. And the dark. And its noises.
I tied my cloth around its trunk
And shuffled to my spot.
The man in the mask smiled down on me
And told me not to worry.
Down went the tendons of my sugar maple.
Its felled body soft and shapely in the dusk.
He said.
I wanted to talk but had nothing to say.
One hundred million hearts will beat together as
one
"Sweep the fireflies under your net!"
He said.
But I clutched at the cloth
And breathed in its brown soil
What are the secret possibilities of trees?
Their whispers control me
even in my sleep.
"The word love should never be written down,"
my Father told me.
Still, I think of the things that have ended
and their clinical ways.
The heart. And the dark. And its noises.
I tied my cloth around its trunk
And shuffled to my spot.
The man in the mask smiled down on me
And told me not to worry.
Down went the tendons of my sugar maple.
Its felled body soft and shapely in the dusk.
some comp. poem
I submitted this for Comp. Now I will submit it to yall. Look at that, I just realized I started it during a Write Club prompt.
Bridal Portrait
Gloved hands mar,
peel the pearled
bodice, not knowing
the hook & eye trick
of it - how pins stitch
the excess, mannequin
in a wedding dress,
its blue flesh sheen.
Make my daughter
an insensitive thing,
bark blushed to pretty
slip-pink & indifferent.
Give her the neglected
lilt of newswomen,
parade float carnations
left out in the rain,
I am only here
because I don't know
how to leave,
the plastic coverings
in the dry cleaner's,
pulsing prideful ghosts,
careening headstrong
around the same theme:
to watch a girl stare
indefinitely at a fixed point
until it haunts me, until
she traces a word on her thigh
like flood lines on aluminum
siding in Sea Bright, or any
fading laceration. She ran
into a spigot off the fire
hydrant and never found
her way home. Alone, wading
knee-deep in rain water. A man
kayaks in front of the 7-11,
a man makes it onto the news.
Bridal Portrait
Gloved hands mar,
peel the pearled
bodice, not knowing
the hook & eye trick
of it - how pins stitch
the excess, mannequin
in a wedding dress,
its blue flesh sheen.
Make my daughter
an insensitive thing,
bark blushed to pretty
slip-pink & indifferent.
Give her the neglected
lilt of newswomen,
parade float carnations
left out in the rain,
I am only here
because I don't know
how to leave,
the plastic coverings
in the dry cleaner's,
pulsing prideful ghosts,
careening headstrong
around the same theme:
to watch a girl stare
indefinitely at a fixed point
until it haunts me, until
she traces a word on her thigh
like flood lines on aluminum
siding in Sea Bright, or any
fading laceration. She ran
into a spigot off the fire
hydrant and never found
her way home. Alone, wading
knee-deep in rain water. A man
kayaks in front of the 7-11,
a man makes it onto the news.
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