Isn’t this Poetry?

The sound men


The sound men


The sound, sound men

make with their dry lips

around the rim of empty bottles,

speaking their foul breath into the glaringly empty amber pit


(that little whimper of the strong man, who can’t lift himself from the bottle)


the sound


the sound


the unsound sound that bleeding bears make in the falling woods when caught in jagged men-traps


you study the poet

in their natural habitat

(I’d wager it’s hell, really

I’ve $50 that it is)


the world is a zoo


I won another $50


for whoring my soul around


I took off my skin

and threw it off the stage


if that’s not funny, nothing is


Poetry is like dying


I want to stop but I really can’t help it


I had a thought

or a dream maybe

that I flew to Victoria

with wings of rot

and crucified myself

near sandridge lookout

and you laughed

and I laughed

and that’s how I’m doing


I guess


I don’t want to be anymore


I don’t want poetry


I don’t know how to want it


God doesn’t believe in me anymore


My soul is rotting again


Just like before, sweet children


Now you have me again


And you can love me


You can have these rough eyes


have my broken mind


take my hungry heart


be a friend to me


watch me fucking die


tell me I’m pretty


I can say I dreamed of you


I was eating my fingers


You didn’t see the poems in me


the didn’t see them spew out


you turned your head


and went to kill God


And I gave you my all


the applause sounded like Frost


my cheers like Poe


Then I turned to dust


and the girl walked over me


kicking me up to the wind


walking in her actual smile


writing something I could never


You’ll only love me if I hate myself


So, clap, you lot


clap until your hands are like mine


live until you’re dead like me


die until you’re alive


tell them all I’ve returned


thrice the ghost I was before


the glass is half dead


pour me around, darlings


around your blistering eyes


I’ll make you see it all like I do


I’ll pull you down into my grave


I’ll make you cold like me


I’ll keep you warm


because we can be friends again


now that I’m falling apart


Now that I’m dead , and dead , and dead again


(Whoever it is

that is

dreaming of me,

please wake up soon.


I can’t breathe anymore.)


I had a dream you told me that you learned something from me


and I felt equal parts overwhelming pride


and gut wrenching disgust


I only want to know you love me


So I can call you a liar


I suppose I’m sicker than we all thought


Don’t tell my doctor

I’ve been skipping days

I don’t have the money to get right

I don’t have the right to get money


If heaven exists,


something like me

shouldn’t ever be there


Isn’t this poetry?


Aren’t we having a good time?


Well…..


Laugh already.


_Oh! _

_ Loosen up! _

_ It’s only poetry! _

__


_Die a little! _

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