Monthly Archives: June 2012

This Is Not Poetry

This is not living;
This is rotting, not dying.
Dying is living
Still.
What is still is still
Unmoving,
Unreal.
Nothing.
Waiting.
For what?
Nothing.
And if something,
Nothing is waiting.

“Our emotions
Are only incidents,” old Tom once said.

Well.

Bathroom floor seat and toilet lid desk,
Tissue paper and lost and found pen.
Dishes at the sink (escape, escape)–
Knives are that way,
Stay away
(Walk it off:
Beat your pulsating wrists against the wall.
Bitten, clawed,
Bites mark, nails sharp,
Scabs picked, fingers sore,
Hair on the floor.
Physical change. More, more, more.)

Lines of blood,
Words rushing, pumped through
Arteries from a muscle,
The mind long gone and nothing–
Dead
(Don’t drink that!),
The spirit has left it.

Not living,
Not alive,
Not a life.
A poem but not poetry.

Help
Let me
Help
Let me
Help
Let–
Us go.

Good luck,
We have luck.
Here, have some.
Good
Bye.
We’re off to the carnival,
To the carousel,
To dream.
You must stay.
Come
Lock the door.

No.

Let the stranger enter to breathe
In life.
Oh, but who then would be knocking?
Who then would let me decide?
And who will see,
Who will
Follow breadcrumbs but animals?

Leave a comment

Filed under Journal