Poem-A-Day #181 : Because I Am Spotted Every Day

Because I Am Spotted Every Day

When you asked about the gym with the monkey on the sign what you meant was that you thought it was gay because there was a monkey on the sign and that the monkey on the sign was flexing and what you actually meant was that the drawing was kitsch as fuck and that is has to be gay then right

And I think I said something about all gyms being homoerotic those bodies in such a small space sweating and pheromoning all over the place and watching each other and performing for each other and then taking selfies in the locker room half naked together and I probably just laughed the comment off in the end because I get it I do but let's be honest here straight men do gay shit all the time

What I really want to ask in the moment though is if you could teach me how to wear flannel like a straight man

Is there a way for me to hide better

Because I am spotted every day

Once in awhile I try stealth just to see how it feels and I only manage a few hours of it before I have to break the silence in the room and by room I mean my head because to be stealth is to actually hide something on purpose and then to have to police yourself constantly to make sure that there isn't a wardrobe malfunction

And I wonder if you have that same experience ever

And I bet you would say that you feel similar things but do you really

When you ask me about the gym being gay and then talk to me about some shit that's real straight I want to throw the pint glass and use the shards of glass to cut your face so you have something to be ashamed of for real

I can get real butch real quick when the weather permits

But only on days without glitter because if there is glitter I will stare into it and think about the light reflecting on my eye and then thick about how our brains invert the things we see to make sense of them and I will be too damn distracted to deal with putting on man for the day

Do you put on man

I check the mirror every morning to see how fag I look so I know how much fag I'll get

There are days where I can't so I don't

And there are days where I'm candy-colored pride parade

And I know there are days you'd rather not but do you know how not to because I had to figure that out at 8 so that I wouldn't be too this too that and I learned how to lower my voice a bit when answering the phone and I learned how not to accent myself I practiced that shit in mirrors and in public and I fell all over myself trying to not stand out to not be harassed to not end up beaten and or dead

And I'm being real histrionic but this is real history as well

But no that is not a gay gym it is a gym and looking at it now I don't even see how you could mistake this my understanding has bled off in the rains of late summer and frankly they have a phone number call them up and ask them if they're gay and let's see what they tell you and then we can start this conversation again after you've been called faggot for real

Poem-A-Day #138 : Legion

I have always wanted to experiment with structure and form. Not in a traditional way. In a weird way. This poem is long. Is weird. Is meant to be read in a ton of different ways with rules that I don't entirely remember. It was to be read by 5 people. It is my attempt to retell the story from the Christian bible of Legion, the man who is many.

The parts can be seen as a cacophony slowly being filtered. A is the most muddled, B retells the narrative from A. C is a sort of clarification of the story as a whole. And D is the implied threat that the creature represents.

I was a weird kid.


Legion (4/9/99)

A (read by 2 people in unison, the words of 1 and 2 should almost alternate, they will create two different meanings)

1
voices endless ceaseless voices enrapture madden voices swirl to mud in my head voices we are existed once sane voices speak of evil voices voices take over

2
we are many never to be whole in our power we are many whole cities in our completeness we are many entwined into an overwhelming force we are many as always forever and ever forever we are many none but us exists here we are many we are many you are us


B (read by one person)

wondering the desert
we discovered a fountainhead
drinking this elixir
immortality

this cleansing syrup is all we need
on earth
drink the air
we are millions

wondering by herds
taking all we cross into ourselves
drink humanity
we take all

we are many


A2 (read by 2 people in unison, the words of 1 and 2 should almost alternate, they will create two different meanings)

1
voices someone must bear this cross voices someone must bear this burden voices someone must set us free voices someone must take this over voices together voices

2
we are many many exist with joy bloody we are many many exist as one no more we are many many exist up to fall down we are many many exist away from we are many others we are many


B2 (read by one person)

for thousands of years
we searched for peace in normalcy
drinking beauty
we could never find

this purpose is clear
as we find that this is our end
drinking in end times
we fall to our feet

for years we knew of him
at his feet we cried
at the feet of him we found
disgrace

we are many


A3 (read by 2 people in unison, the words of 1 and 2 should almost alternate, they will create two different meanings)

1
voices we cannot concentrate voices we will someday escape this shell voices we will no longer be here voices will someday end . . . .

2
we are many who rule this body we are many who never die or end we are many after this body there will be another we are many and we are all . . . .


B3 (read by one person)

threatened with exile
we are dishonored wholly
drinking from this elixir
the stuff of mortality

this man is against us completely
drinking in hatred
lashing with
fists

threatened with exile
we hate him and
drinking from his blood
is all we want

we are many


C (read by one person)

He came to expel us
To make us one out of many
Though we wanted it, we do not wish
to be forced

But we are

driven out

We float away

Driven on

we will find another

Driven

We search for peace
in the desert
Bask in the voices
We are many


D (read by one person)

We are many bring us your children we are thousands give us a toy we are millions bring the young we are many growing we are many biding time bring us the children give them to us we are multiples allow this

Give us what you want
Give us what we need
Give us what we want
And we will go away

We are many

Poem-A-Day #58 : I Am Clearly Still Angry

I Am Clearly Still Angry

The clay pots sit where they were left in the fall - waiting and filled to the brim with last year's soil - the small rocks lining the bottoms of them taken from that house with the rose bush I endlessly obsessed over - caring more about its limbs than my own -

The sound of their breaking - imagine the sound of fired clay against concrete - the breath being pushed from the lungs of a body being beaten to death - ribcage cracking like kindling on a fire the wood so wet that all it produces is smoke and the smell of furnaces -

I want to promise that they will be protected from this - that they will have seeds in them - will have new sprouting heads - that I will not throw them one after another towards the highway that spirals into the distance like a great rubber band across the landscape -

But I can't keep secrets - and I hate the idea of things growing from these shells and I want them to sit dumbly in the rain the wind the blistering heat of summer - I would only plant to watch the green shoots turn yellow and white and wither -

I am clearly still angry -

But let this emotion enter and absorb the room - here the pots become vessels for something greater than growing - they are where we can place our organs as our bodies empty - I feel the pain in my back becoming greater - let me put my kidney here just for a moment -

The heart fits nicely in the small urn that had alyssum in it - purple flowers pop across the surface like barnacles - that we had that kind of water - that those small beak mouths could open and find their peace - that the sun wouldn't need so much from us -

How does the soil know when it is time to squeeze the roots until they break - that winter is coming - that the trail of vines is also a lower intestine - fuck these branches needing to be pruned - and these fingers for tracing the buds like life signs no one will notice the fresh scent of green anyway -

Source - Garden & Home