Archive for October 18, 1993

Hate It

Posted: October 18, 1993 in Poetry
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they hate that I’m a poet,
worse than the letters:
the dates, the blood smears,
the honesty, the colored ink screams
never voiced by my throat,
clogged with enough pride to make you puke,
almost – that’s the gimmick –
never quite enough to make you vomit,
just enough carefully measured mental phlegm
to keep you doubled over with nausea
at your own behavior and responses;
a petty dam of pride
bubbling in the back of your mouth,
behind your tongue,
on top of your trachea;
accelerating those damaging comments
like a slingshot, a gauss gun,
selectively scything the quiet honest ones.
whispering like a pool of rottten oatmeal
by creeping inside your ears and nose,
cutting off your heart’s conscience
from your mind.

Homecoming

Posted: October 18, 1993 in Poetry
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maybe some part of me likes this
all these charades and party games;
little tiffs and arguments
inflated into parade-sized balloons
with sick joking happy faces;
whole carnival floats from
the high schools of hell –
homecoming for one broken hearted man
alone in the auditorium.

Untitled Poem #171

Posted: October 18, 1993 in Poetry
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wow Michael what a way to get back into
writing in your poetry journal:
a little scotch,
a little blood,
a little scotch in your blood,
[a little blood in your scotch]
and you’re back to begging
that it’s all over.