Tuesday, February 26, 2013

some stories for Al, a notapoem

in the early hours, i sit on a milk-crate on my porch
and watch the strange clouds ,
eating cereal and enjoying the hope in my veins


i am a different man when i wear a beard.
quieter usually, more alone,
but always surer of myself ;
and my hands better touch women nearby.


it changes around me. shapes, colours, moods.
one day, this dust-covered-hell-pit will be my home
and i will love it because it will be every single part of me
skinned and put on display.


'i'm worried, i should tell you, i'm concerned'
'every woman i have been alone with for more than an hour
i have slept with this month.'


so i took the pills.

was lost and got loster

___(was fallen and fell


late-afternoon was so handsome. the sky violet,
a perfect blanket to wear.
perched with legs on either side of a ladder i paint a window,
too slowly and too deliberately,
and stop.
and start to cry to myself.
for the second time in a decade ,
only this one inexplicable.
without mourn or happiness.

when he asks me why later i have found the answer:
it was the hurt of my face up against that bottom rock

(and fifteen minutes later cried again).


and then it finished.
get me out of here mom i need to not be here. 

she was shocked. shiny and perfect and glowing with
labour and fresh and rosy as dawn, to leave now?



q remember to shave your beard and clean the paint out from under your fingernails before you start work tomorrow. 


so much silence ,
at 1am i painted with one lamp
illuminating the room.
my knees quivered.
i have not known such a complete death before.


q, you haven't spoken to anyone in months. you have to come. you must. you can't keep refusing to see people. you're coming. 


with the heavy rains puddles have formed along the driveway.
the weeds that broke my back spring up,
perky and happy and mistaken as youth.

so now i know, that was all a waste of time.


was fallen and fell ,

and stayed down

(oh don't worry about the house, it's a hundred years old it's tougher than you or i)

and it ate me as an apple


i have not worn glasses in months
i sit as the bus moves on and am unsure how to hold my briefcase
i hear wind through my bones

1 comment:

alexandra said...

thank you, for the stories q..

(err, i hope you meant me-al and not another al. otherwise, pardon my presumption.)


"the sky violet,
a perfect blanket to wear."

i hope for you the sky is suitable to wear everyday