I am your labouring, otherness cousin - we’ve been through so many of the same things...
"Projection" – "production"
lastly living up
to the decoding rub –
aye, we are millennia away
(though planted right now)
from figuring – ya think? –
how to respond to the edge that has
a thousand fictions taking off
richly bare & unknowing.
In the dim press of the night
the day coursing through our veins.
As we move upsetting all forms of balance
remembered whim is the way we think
we should move. Boundaries.
Left handed instinct. The whole world
limping in on its minutiae of a crass
club foot.
The walk along the shore grows hosts in spades.
The last time I forgot you includes how you "won".
A golden medallion, a broken octave – it's tune
the way weather is, all flippantly inclusive.
& then you come down the stairs
leading to down the stairs
wringing sweat from your scarf.
I have things to tell you that don't
add up – you getting my back
as you pull away all props – you
smart enough to invent songs
that won't leave us empty…
djuana a.k.a. Lisa Gordon
EGO IS CONSIDERED RATIONAL
narrow/personal
(don’t believe it goes beyond that)
self-interest
might be the dirtiest
word
of any language
it’s got us where we’re at
whoopee
id is gone
long live the id
e b bortz
DISCARDED ME-WORLDS
Unthinking/unthinkings
Unthinking my mind
Unthinking form & verse
Unthinking language
Dismantling the left behinds
Discarded me-worlds
Fragmented effects of cause and effect
Histories blown to the winds of amnesia
All the bits that women have abandoned
Juiced me dry
Dried my juices up
Up Up Up under their skirts where power resides
Vagina caves in formaldehyde
Damien Hirst wants to go there
But he can’t get in there
Not enough balls
Too straight
Too straight
Not like me / I’m freaky
In & out of the dark places
Cuntfort zones
Wanna kiss yr cuntfort zone
Do it to yu in a foreign language
You like Japanese/ baby?
You lyke Japaneese?
Maybe we can do Chinese/instead?
Cantonese/Mandarin?
Stir fry that thang U got/sweet yr sour sauce
How about kiswahili style
You wanna speak kiswahili with me tonight?
You wanna go there?
Spit syllables and watch you cum over the typewriter
Watch you cum over the lap-top and dance for me lap-top style
Lap-top style with mirrors on the ceiling
I told you I was freaky
That I get off on words
That I am unthinking these unthinkings
THAT I AM Kind of messed up/now
Dismantling the left behinds
Discarded me-worlds.
Fragmented effects of cause and effect
Histories blown to the winds of amnesia
All the bits that women have abandoned
Juiced me dry
Dried my juices up/
UP UP UP they go with my SOUL on their lips
Their husbands have sent them here to wring me dry
Take my words with them
Into their bedrooms so they can get freaky like me
OH YOU BASTARD
OH YU BASTARD
OH UU PUSSY EATING BASTARD YOU!
Death to the poet
Death to the poet
Death to the motherfucking poet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Is what she cried when she came.
Ronnie McGrath
SELF REFLECTIONS
It started as a conversation with a friend.
Just a few small phrases like it often does
Just small thoughts on big things
That make you think long and hard
“How can someone say they know you?”
“When you barely really even know yourself,” she said.
“You’re right you know.”
“How can they ever really know you?” I responded
Because I know I’m constantly changing inside
Almost like desert sand that’s swirling and is always on the move
Or like a tree's branches waving and dancing in the wind
With its shadows shifting and moving in the light
Leaving its dappled palette to only linger
For a moment on the ground only to change again
I barely stand still long enough to know myself
So how can you say you really know me?
That is my worst fear I think
Of someone trying to freeze me solidly in time
Forever seeing me only in just one-way
When I have already long moved on
And am already somewhere else
Far up the long road on my journey
Many miles away from here
Following my unspoken dreams and private yearnings
How can you really say you know me?
Without knowing the dreams I chase.
Without even walking a short while with me
How could you ever think you know the real me?
© 2008 c.m.brooks
