(no subject)
Merk
There's too much light in my life
there that's better
the street people recommend
don't let your brother fling his
leg & arm around you like
you're his girlfriend. Humpin your
kneecap, stuff like that
the vilest smell of all tonight
is human food
it's November when the moons switch
places. White is bad
black is good. Food stinks.
Carrying their buckets of soup
to their stupid abodes
furs around their necks, beasts.
What do humans eat? Dogs, more or less.
Ripping fruit from the vine
snipping the crop
maybe vegetables would like to
let their baby be too
and never never eat the human
that is a crime. Push my machine
to see what nazi called
me. Go out and kill her with my teeth
I'm a bored outsider
the season is cold
everywhere doors are slamming
and look who you're in the
room with now. Someone to eat
I hope. Think of Goethe
Werner Goethe with his leg
flung up on a rock in
Italy. Take a bite
of that fat calf.
He's like a big posing gondola
what's the idea
every poet i know is a partial artist
the lucky ones are dead
naturally incomplete
but look at everyone you think of
hanging on to some misapprehended
particle of modernism, all
plumped up with pillows
there's nothing
after a modern idea
for poets. All they do
is think & eat. If you call
that making something
& I don't, I don't call that art.
We must offer ourselves
up as food or eat
someone. If you can make there
be less of someone else
or someone could take
a bite out of you
then you could join in the incompletion
or excess of your age
I'm sick of seeing dunces celebrated
that's the job
someone that looks good in ribbons
someone surrounded
by their editor's
arms. Love object
of a lesbian
but not being
one. Particle board
potential screen
play, plastic
hair, translates
well, millions will hold
you on the train
bite me now
bite me forever
in your two strong
o eat me read
me something
I am the daughter
of substitution
my father fell
instead of the dresser
it was the family
joke, his death
not a suicide
but a joke
how could I accidentally
get eaten
slipping into your
sandwich or refrigerator
sort of a dick
that crawls
up from the bottom of your
ice cream cone
it's too late for some
of us, but for others
it's never late enough. Tonight
when they moved
the lights and everything
looked completely
horrible for
a change
I was looking
for sympathy
and you asked
me for the menu
I have escaped the unseemly
death of the alcoholic
yet I keep my ear so close
to the ground & I know
what they know
I begin to smell
funny, another fate
it was as if I was falling
last night
but I imagined
myself a bit
of food
& I was safe
in your mouth
& I would
never die
it is the legacy
of my family
to change in the air
& smash as
something new
not a woman
but a chair
full of flowers
not a poet
but a donut
or a myth
go up there
& get me a cracker
darling
& proudly
I walked
eileen myles