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i'm writing againthe last few notesMore Like This
of yellow ledbetter
was the first crackle
of the radio when we dropped
acid by the ocean. it
was the most beautiful sound
i had ever heard.
and when the walls were
filling up with black red
blood and turning, delicately,
my life was wrapped around your
wooden frame, and your eyes
were spaceless visions
of a dead star. your name, ah
i roll it over my fingers
in your car i am a desert singer.
the wind scrapes my arm and weeps
with all the colors of green that
i've never even seen before. for once
i forget the mantra, 'we are the worst
things we ever did. nothing less. nothing
more.' and i tell you that i want to go fast
This is How I Kill MyselfWhen I was younger,More Like This
before I was a person,
I was not supposed
to be born.
The doctors said
I would have to be removed,
I was a danger to myself
and my mother.
The doctors said
I wasn't going to make it.
I think that maybe
this might have been
God's way of trying to fix
his mistake. He saw that what
he had made was not good.
But I had to have my way,
as I always have. And he let
me have my way, as he always
has.
The undeniable fact
that I was not supposed
to be born seems like much
more than a coincidence
when I haven't done a single
thing right since.
-
You told me
that the only thing
standing in my way is me,
It took me so long t
on getting to be honesti wonderMore Like This
if you were really drunk or not
when you called me. if that was
just an excuse when i asked you why,
if maybe that made it somehow
seem less strange after all this time.
i wonder
if you were telling the truth
about keeping everything i gave you.
except for my paintings, which you
admitted that you destroyed. i wonder
how often you take my poems out and
read them.
i wonder
why you asked me what my
warmest memory was of us.
i'd often dream of having
this conversation with you
a year ago, but it was too soon
and we were still in love but
we hated each other. i would have
said, 'the best memory i have of you
is you leaving.' which of c
just a thoughtdon't let your sadnessMore Like This
carry you. you can look at it-
and rock it to sleep in your
arms and let it melt in your
hands, you can put it out
on the windowsill for
the cats. they know
how to kill fast-moving,
sharp things.
you can
blow it out with black dreams
and the sky will eat it,
she will cough in 200 years
but she will eat it. you can
digest it in a concrete pill
that you can't snort, but know
that the sadness will come for you in
the morning like the motley hawk to
the long-dead doe who thought sleep
would offer some peace, but no-
you thought relief would offer some peace, but no-
the sadness will come for you in
the morning.
you will
I am the wayward childI wish I had something more to offerMore Like This
when your joints ached and your bones creaked
and you wept dust; (the cobwebs around
your tongue were a comfort once)
but I am three times screwed
over backwards and turned right around,
breathing in gravel and praying on
the only consistencies I know like
on Sun-day we are in the house of God
and it won’t rain and dad won’t speak
and mom will sit with pursed lips counting
all the times we didn’t kiss her goodbye
and everyone will call it normal,
everyone will look at the way I write words
on cracked pavement and get glassy-eyed
when they speak softly and forget the sound
of my own vo
Sta.sh
