prayer (a notapoem)

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
____madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
____looking for an angry fix,

______Howl, Allen Ginsberg






untitled, sylvain-emmanuel



whatsoever God who makes too few blue roses: could it be that there is a reason for all those nights i tried to sleep bashing my head against the wall to stop the sound of mania (feed.f*ck.stab.murder.write.drink.hate.again.repeat.again.repeatrepeatrepeatrepeat) , for all this life feeling caged and animaled sharpening my teeth against prayer books hating you for alleverything it's your fault you bastard (and remorseless sadness with no (other) reason (but) to be, so that i seethe with anger every 12 minutes if i am left unhugged, and quite the opposite and my jaw tight like a beartrap dry mouth can't say yes or no when asked every time it hits- if you must know, it's like holding back gravity, like jumping off the diving board and willing yourself to suspend- you'd have an easier time stopping time than stopping the motion of my brain pulsates and speaks of itself and eats the little bones of chickens smiling the whole time and mouthing to me when no one else is looking: eff you boy, is there a reason ?

whatsoever God who knows there is nothing true except for gravity, and i feel soo much better knowing i am not terrible to have faught, but lucky to have occasionally won, and no matter what you say i maintain my shadow is darker than yours and bolder, and right in front of my eyes wanders off to join the others and kicks me in my sleep so i wake tight-fisted and contracted muscles in my side hurt and i put a pillow between my knees life feels like bone-on-bone action, is there a reason ? better yet a route off the trail, god dear goodness, dear reason for the unsubstantial misbelief that everything in life is holding me back from some tremendous wonderfulness i can't find touch grasp grapple with in the night as i stumble back to bed for more dreams - whatsoever God, who knows my stomach cramps if i think of breasts and the smell of women and their lips on my hands and their noises and sounds and she was always scared when i put my hand around her neck a f*cking reason _ after all this time ?

(and of course) i collapse after into a (nonerotic) exhaustion, quite unlike anyother thing, like recovering from fever, three times this week i've left the window of my car down i can't sit still can't eatdrink play half a scale on the piano and walk out with the lights on water running what was your name again?, yes i'm sorry yes you did just tell me, where what are we? yes yes collapse and soo tired, see everything as texture, like fabric, reasons for that too, and for creativity and this writing is soo blah blah blah bullshit i hate myself for it stop reading you bastards reasons for that too and if i just fall and disappear maybe on the other side of some needed rainbow (why is there never air, the next rainbow i find i'm going to inhale so my intestines are yellow and red blue green violet whatever) if i disappear maybe on the other side of

just quiet please.
just a moment's worth.