ANGST POEMS & RANT

Discontent

discontent is a cyclopes— monumental,

placed on my path,

making my life an Odyssey. 

cyclopes in my plans, in my hours— minutes— seconds,

in my name— in my hair

in your eyes. 

cyclopes with these pages— leaving grease stains.

cyclopes— repeating Allen Ginsberg's tone, and growing an eye,

then— sticky with blood— throwing the eye away;

can't watch it decompose cause everything is hazy.

lazy— indoors all day— nauseous with un-productivity.

cyclopes who is starving me, and doesn't like the taste of food.

cyclopes who has made me fat— 

who can't sit solemnly, but has nothing to say

so has me gorging on

shit food, shit conversations:

he has claimed his place

he is here to stay. 

A possibly never complete-able Love Poem

I swing my hips—

suck my breath into my lungs—

make my heart beat quick 

for you.

I get dressed, and undress.

drink caffein to not need rest—

stay awake all night 

for you.

teach myself to read and speak

remember things I'll never need 

to know— to know how to intrigue you.

I need the night to fill with you;

we look better in the dark.

we like

personalized lighting and music—

time that goes on, and on and on...

I wait up for you

let the time slip by for you

hold my tears— I never cry for you,

but ache, ache

for some reality to pull through—

from the contradiction in what I want and what is true

to

fall away. 

*   *   *   * 

I have so much to write about— possibilities. There are so many things going on, but I'm not going to write about the ant colony in my kitchen. NO NO NO!— there are too many of those— ants, I mean. No— I can only write about the fly buzzing against my window pane. THAT SINGULAR FLY... it comes close to my face, and my eyes widen: HORROR— it won't leave me be.

IHATEHIM IHATEHIM I HATE HIM IHATEHIM IHATEHIM

but— its not him its me— and that cliché line actually works in this case, but that's beside the point.

POINT IS: it is as though there has never been a fly in my room before—> never been hate on my mind before. but that's not the truth. I have definitely written a similar rant. One that is just as IRRATIONAL. Cause— damn it— there is no cause, no reason, no purpose— the idiot fly just got caught in my room again.