Poem-A-Day #363 : 36

36

6 years pass
& you seem to remember the cake
from the party

There were faces then
instead of paper bags thinking themselves
into humanity

At the corner of bakery
& Waldorf School was the same feeling
you always have about relationships

What the fuck

& then what the fucking fuck

The impulse to speed away
is so strong that the blur lines come in packs of 100
for $.99 at Party City

They run the gamut from black
to neon anime hair
& even then they all seem too realistic

Looming near the Barclay's Center
the Nets seem to want to play water polo instead
of basketball

And the apartment you sat in
for 7 years melts
into a pool of metallic Studebaker gold

Here is a door frame
it goes to the roof
& manages to deposit you in Bed-Stuy

Don't look back
it wants you to feel fear it can blood let

Instead stare into the ocean & feel its boil

Heavy Lifting

Sometimes I think I'm trying to be the lovechild of Hart Crane and William Butler Yeats.

I promise not to jump ship.


Heavy Lifting 5/6

One could talk about the bridge as if it were a cauldron
Large, black, possessed with foot soles
It is a marching thing with tentacles of steel
A holding on between sides of a river
Large cascading handles spreading hypnosis
Of progress from above the liquid void

Like it is the root of something
A questing darkness, nothingness that is searching
For a key to unlock its powers and bring the dead
To life to roam and flock the towns to bone

Mortar and pestle of hope, that is failing in every aspect
Large alright, but spindly, tiny narrow threads
A spider-hold on a moving continent
What falls into the darkness? What pulls itself hulking out?