Wednesday, 18 October 2017


PRIVATE SCRUBS

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soft scrub and no lotion / witches promise wreck the potion


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robotic to the bottom of this kiss that we have shared now beyond invention / your eyes: leaf green /


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take this poem / and butter your bread
take this poem / and reject its fallacy
be the one to believe / that it needs no other beginning /
than you / pouring your heart into it /
to fill every crack of its lacking and wanting / with a love which it itself cannot speak of /
let it begin with you / so that we, the vicarious writer of it / can step out of it /
and take in its beauty / as it (supposedly) unfolds /
and move into the other / the counter-zone / our judgment, our love /
you know, every poem breaks, like us, into pieces / in order to
seem momentarily less insignificant / this is called processing /
this is where we meet: / we are useless to you because we do not understand /
you are useless to us because we cannot make you understand / we draw counter measures /
pulp children / stretching out on not-yet playgrounds / to contemplate the importance
of futures / to make papa
cry / to make papa laugh / make his pulp bones cherish his pulp effort /
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bones wishing to be numbered / necklaces


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have you ever felt so beside yourself that you became the person standing next to you / like a heart that is driven by fear will never know love etc / 

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