October 2011
When you find a man Who transforms Every part of you Into poetry, Who makes each one of your hairs Into a poem, When you find a man, Capable, As I am Of bathing and adorning you With poetry, I will beg you To follow him without hesitation, It is not important That you belong to me or him But that you belong to poetry.
Translation by Bassam K. Frangieh and Clementina R. Brown
cubic zirconia
all those times
i’ve pressed my lips
against yours
and felt nothing.
moments where
i’m convinced we’ll shake the multitudes.
and pull away
feeling nothing.
the empty wishes
in our actions
i know you feel them too.
yet we pile nothing
upon nothing
as if the weight of our sins
would create a diamond
but what’s so impressive about a diamond
except the mining.
do you remember
those afternoons you confused for mornings?
making love to a toilet bowl,
the sweet taste of bile
fresh on your tongue.
the heartburn and nose bleeds,
the piss soaked clothes, dead friends,
and empty wallets.
the throat slitting regret
of waking up next to stranger,
after stranger,
after stranger.
the promises to God
oh, and how you break them.
like the way you think...
God is nowhere, God is now here
Those smoke filled walks
in December
to the coffee shop
twenty minutes
from the corner.
And, I didn’t last forever.
But then again,
I never thought I would.
Hell no.
Try again.
Pick yourself up, road kill.
You ain’t finished yet.
Patch up those holes in your lungs,
learn how to walk again.
Baby steps.
You’ll be off the nipple soon enough,
just give it time.
You’ll choke on solid food.
Your jaw’s still wired shut,
but don’t fret.
Your teeth are in tact
and you will learn how to
talk again.
I want to draw
I want to be inspired
I want to photograph
I want to inspire
I want to be a
genuine human being
again.
I feel fake
and full of shit.
I need to
DISAPPEAR!
and reappear
reconstructed
spiritual surgery
before this soul expires.
Before the ink runs out
while writing my
comeback story.
i am a constant struggle
between lost and found
i am the dead leaves
and the dirty ground
a paper ghost
in a paper town
i never brought you orchids
and you never came around.
i was born into this
the crippling comfort
of middle class crisis
a life of
spoiled little rich kids
and alcoholic house wives.
give me the world.
i do nothing
yet deserve it.
i am the poster child
of an asshole generation
you can’t stop us
but you can follow us
on facebook.
( i live in a house with a scale beside the kitchen table)
i had light in my eyes
two roman candles
burning blue in the night
and i meant it
when i smiled
but
i was born
with crooked teeth
and
i curse the wind
each time it speaks.
I felt like destroying something beautiful
tearing you out of centerfolds
except you’ve escaped from the cold.
and i
growing old in my slumber
laying dormant, think of you
as an endless summer.
...
