Seven Months of Sun

My great friend Jean is leaving, Julie of my 2nd life, who these past 7 months has taught me to trust the authentic in my work wherever it leads


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Seven Months of Sun

I can’t stop you from going
to Albuquerque, you’ll be gone
in two weeks, gone too soon
I got over the flu too soon
I should be sick for this
Noon comes nicotine-stained,
heavy this dark night, heavy
I walk past a blur of doors,
past phantoms in windows
I don’t slow down or focus
I don’t care what signifies what
Go, be a sun in New Mexico
Be bright, mighty, write
I rush away from our present
Past places I wanted us to go
So beautiful, my friend
These places we’ll never go
I light a smoke for light--going
You--are light--going
The noon for me is dark
The noon for me is dark
I will not be New Age strong
I will not be spiritual about loss
Fuck Alan Watts, fuck Ram Dass
Your embrace goes elsewhere
Southeast goes your smile, arms, eyes
I will email mine,
my color by number grief
confused scribbled heart
my mind in lines incomplete,
my never-to-be-edited rough draft life,
every adverb, adjective, fuck me
loving, missing, loving, missing
I do not say yes to your exit
Not pure, not an angel
I am not serene. Not sorry
I do not accept bad things I cannot
change. Not sorry. I am disfigured
Past a blur of doors
I rush away from our present,
from our two weeks left, I can’t
cope with a final lunch, I rush
Past years I wanted for us,
past phantoms doing all things
we could’ve done in time
so much in time we’ve done
O sun who blazed with me
who made my darkness light
who lit what we did in time
Go, get out of here, I’ll stay
Black sky! Lightning!
Go--to Albuquerque, be well,
Be bright, mighty, write
what does this mean?--
I will write--what does this mean?
no tears, my face is poetry,
all our faces, poetry! anger!
Wetness, gratefulness, poetry
I’ll send my stanzas southeast!
I will not go dark in quiet,
I will howl my words through space
may they land with lightness
a kiss of words for your cheek
or a moon made of the best of me
floating poem of me, lightness
coming to rest in a tender palm
in Albuquerque, love Portland
May the rain and the cross
mock me now, my sun is dipping,
dipping too soon, dipping now
The noon for me is dark
The noon for me is dark
O seven months of sun,
you blazed in my sky, blazed
hot, your greatness I ate
and became a hot thing too
May we not be sorry for any of it
May we both be hot things
remain hot things--on the page,
hot mail, apart, away
in gravity and in lightness
I love you--
O sister-poet-Christ of my second life,
I love you--
seven months of sun


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3rd Hour Chaos

A Day of 9th grade English


My voice echoes throughout the room
I don't think they understand
My words have fallen out of my mouth
Onto their paper, doodles added... (stars)
But I don't think they get it

Just then, the one "he" calls stupid
Looks up, glowing smile across his profile
Sending me a signal that he just might get it
My heart rumbles with connections, I shine alone

"Can I go to the bathroom?" he asks
"Yes, go ahead, I reply"
I collect their classwork
My mirror shattered, my hope faded
"Shit, thought I found a window", I thought

As I leave, I read the papers in the hall
A mere five minutes later
I see the lightbulbs, the glows, the shimmer
glowing from off their papers

In fact the comprehension is astounding
I got through their murky eyes of doubt
but the fear of seeming interested...
had scared them silent
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concussion

*


*jaunt to port huron
battered by a toliet paper dispenser
hermes must have been on lunch break

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Opting Out

typical mike g story


THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Opting Out
Seeing red because I’m angry. Seeing red because I’m in a womb again. I begged the Soul Guardians to not hurl be back into this Hell. Nirvana I had earned through countless rounds of suffering. I didn’t achieve enlightenment like that bitch Buddha. Enlightenment is a hypothetical cum-shot self-proclaimed by pussies. I argued with those amorphous blobs, I argued with those fuckers, Soul Guardians--if you give a fuck about my soul let it be extinguished--if you want to guard something, guard the goddamn smoking ember that was my light, guard the smoke that was a soul and do not let it ignite again. I made my best argument. I caused the pussy lips of God to tremble (sound of finger to mouth bluh-bluh-bluh-bluhing!) So many thousands of rounds of suffering I was a fuckin’ Magi, been to Bethlehem and back bearing treasures, a cut tongue, a mutilated dick for what?--pursuing a fuckin’ star, a fuckin’ cartoon deity, money, poetry--all roads lead to suffering--I told those pudding-brained cunts that I didn’t need to learn any more shit about being human. Fuck your Earth! your Greenpeace! your C- film project Cosmos! Which one of you pussies is the C- Word?! In the beginning was the Word and the Word was C-! I might’ve been an asshole for 10 thousand incarnations but at least I was an A+ asshole!
So fine bitches. You wanna punish me? Put me in a womb? I’ll just have to figure a way out of this mess, won’t I? won’t I! I’ve been talkin’ to people! (whisper) Others have done it, opted out, they call it miscarriage, and if it takes a little longer to learn they call it crib death. Nice fuckin’ food-pump you got hooked up to my navel. Mommy flows in like a nicotine patch flows in. Nourished against my will. I’ll piss on your face. Everything’s analogous C-! You couldn’t do a better job? Fuckin’ idiot God. What a clown! Did you sleep in God-class? Creator 101? Well let me tell you God--you are mocked by your entire creation--how does that taste?! How big you are that most are too fucked up to challenge you--C-!
Goddamnit, I can’t figure it out, I’m about to be born, I’m about to become an I, and I is the problem, the whole nightmare of history bullshit, the I, the lust of the dumb senses--feed me! fuck me! hear me! see me! accept me!--how pathetic! I’ve known so many pathetic bitches, I’ve been pathetic so many times in this C- paradigm! Gotta pick friends who are less, gotta pick friends who tell me their troubles, pussy-ass friends--lesser! lesser!--and sometimes just for kicks I’ll be less, I will need, I will play all the roles in all codependent dramas. How sick it is! Ten million friends I’ve had. Ten million simple machines! Cunts! Dicks! That’s all relationships are folks!
I can’t damn the placental nourishment. I’m being pinched into being, another locus of suffering about to burst pink and ugly into this world-wind. C-! I’m being born. I’ve been born. I have a cunt. I’m a girl. What now? I hate my baby blanket because I need my baby blanket. Mommy, mommy, tit-milk like crack. C- analogies proceed through my being. Mommy sings them to me. Mommy sings such stupid shit like all mommies: when the bough breaks the cradle will fall . . . It’s not that mommies are bad, it’s just that mommies are God, transferring all the death-trips of the culture to us--and down will fall baby cradle and all. You poor pathetic woman, you poor pathetic woman. Mommy? Kill me! Goddamnit, if you learn one goddamn thing with your fleeting precious time here, please learn to kill your baby! 2+2 is 4. Kill your baby! Hush little baby don’t you cry . . . So be it retard! Spread your legs to make a suffering thing! How dare you be so stupid and cruel! You did not learn from your suffering, mommy? Did you forget that your daddy stuck his pinky in? My daddy picks the lint off my blanket, my little blue blanket. He kisses me and tickles my little girl cheeks with his manly face-hair. If I grow up, if I grow up, I’m gonna fuck somebody like daddy. I’ll spread my legs like mommy. I’ll let everything in, but unlike you mommy I’ll kill what comes out like you should’ve done.
Rocking on my haunches, soon I’ll be crawling. Soon I’ll be walking and babbling stupid duh duhs and muh muhs, and become a sweet little caged parrot. Maybe I could bite back like a parrot, but I fear that mommy and daddy are old school when it comes to discipline. I might forget all this and become stupid after the beatings and threats to behave or else. I might forget all this, grow nice tits, become a Barbie, get the guys to like me. I might forget all this and become a great poet and get the guys to like me. Why couldn’t death be the end? Why can’t energy die and stay dead? Whose dick do I have to suck to insure oblivion’s permanence?
Grey light leaks despair through the window blinds. The need to escape this nightmare aches in groin, in navel, in heart, in forehead. It is winter, my first winter, but the intimation is that it’s been winter forever and always will be. Cold draft on little toes. I’m getting sleepy. I’m weeping silently from my eye slits. I think of mommy and daddy and say bye bye. I would like to see the sun a final time. I would like to feel her amorous heat on my face and feel glad. Ad-libbing songbirds bid their adieus. My eyes close but I can still see a pink film. That is life, a pink film panorama upon which all the drama and teeth, fire and pain pour forth. But my prayer has yielded a secret. I fill the pink film with black Rorschachs. Last time I loved three women. Bye bye Julie, Sarah, Robyn. We gave the best we could of what we had. I stop my breathing. Yes! My tiny pink fist trembles triumphant. My will, fierce and black, devours the pink. May I not return to the chain or the wheel. May the sweat and the blood bind me no more to this C- bullshit. May I, bye bye. . .
























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light pollution

*

* in the gulf darkness 1200 miles from home,
there was no light pollution. i finally saw the big dipper for the first time in roughly 4 years since we last stood outside your old house, smoking and probably cold. that glorious night you must have pointed out 20 constellations which i had never been aware of.
i wonder if you ever look at stars anymore, and how much that meant to me, something i will never forget, no matter where i am . home or thousands of miles away.

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When One has Lived a Long Time with Diarrhea

Been sick. Very. Parody of Galway Kinnell


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When One has Lived a Long Time with Diarrhea
When one has lived a long time with diarrhea
one waters night-crawlers on sunny sidewalks,
one waters neglected flowers, one pours new
empathy upon all dehydrated beings in need with
desperate half-empty organs pumping from
memory: the pale Monarch butterfly with stiff
tongue, no tears of gods to revive, the chained dog
panting in dementia’s heat-waves, the dried
twig with closed bud, diseased guts of spring,
High fever, all dream-danger unleashed, all colors,
all phantoms crowd and slam-dance till the stars dim
when one has lived a long time with diarrhea
When one has lived a long time with diarrhea
one squirts out poems into the toilet bowl black,
the brain pleads to unseen beings behind the curtain
the body has shaken the pen from the hand
shaken the hand from the work, it’s time for the
articulation of orifices, it’s time to be eloquent
with the mouth while the mouth has moisture
these works will be perfect and final as they are,
will contain nothing superfluous or sentimental
these are the brevities of tombstone Shakespeares
best work, last work and the riches of sleep are deep
when one has lived a long time with diarrhea
When one has lived a long time with diarrhea
the composition of the soul is no longer a mystery:
“as above so below” pours out of your sore anus,
shit-gods in soiled nightgowns play slip n’ slide out
of your ass: fuck metaphysics! fuck science!
O deep laughter of sickness, the stink and struggle!
Belief’s time to matter has expired: so goddamn tired!
The big bad wolf’s at the door: this little piggy ate
applesauce, bananas, white toast, lost hope,
got too thin, house blew in, too weak to goddamn
god--one’s too weak to goddamn anything
when one has lived a long time with diarrhea




When one has lived a long time with diarrhea
one waters the bones of Whitman, the mighty
fortress of the self shrinks, what’s left in the toilet
bowl sings, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is but--
what’s beneath the pillow-sweat does not stir, I shall
hear no fly buzzing thereafter, no hot poet waits in
a glass carriage to spirit me home, I go to become
the jack-o-lantern’s grin, this is it, the final poem
of self at self’s end: the worm, the Whitman, the soul
are not entwined with lilac, star and rose--
what could’ve been better no longer matters
when one has lived a long time with diarrhea
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Sphinx-like

last night's rant


I am the I-less, eyeful,
I, island, I
wait for words to describe
non-ness.
why cry when guys, assholes, smile
like bad influences?
like non-ness, I, like non-ness,
I'm learning to like non-ness.
I'm learning to relax my sphincter,
sphinx-like,
to accept the riddle of your cock.
fuck me,
as deep as your intellect-ness.
Put your penis where your mouth is.
I, I lie about my I-less-ness,
but I am an is, I is, I am.
I can connote is-ness,

whatever the fuck that is.
whoever I am, I am fuck-less,
most nights, alone,
I can't imagine a world,
where my non-vagina opens,
to the cocks of assholes.
a hopelessness islands me,
I, fuckless, lying about I-less-ness.
at times, my nipples burn of their own accord,
lately, all the time,
my sphinx-like sphincter, rectum, anus,
I don't even know my own anatomy,
so fuck me, I-less-ness,
irredeemable, silent, lost
amidst memory and innocence, I, eyeless,
to the dicks of ass-holes, who am I
to deny
the imperative of fake love?

you: the object, you: arch-angelic.
I had high hopes but low expectations,
nations upon nations upon you,
your expectations finite,
joyless,you hyphenated hymens,
high priestesses were slain,
as afterthoughts, thou douche-bag,
disingenuous, disintegrator,
whore! bad man! hate-ee,
go to the hell place,
where justice, poetic or not, is meted out,
but at least, first, lemme touch it,
I, in my is-ness-less, demand truth,
I, eyeless, in eyelessness,
every word a lie, cry, poetically,
my words worthless,
all my mes abandoned, why?

ask me when I know,
do I bow
before the is-less-ness
ask me how I suffer on
despite the cowardice
of deadness, and dickless infinity,
I expand, my sphincter,
a learner, my infinite-ness,
a dream of better poets,
better gods, better assholes,
wholly godless, my words, real,
wordless, not godly, not good,
but god, but god, but god.
I wanna learn anal sex, relax, I wanna learn,
and be real, and feel.

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Supplanted

Silver trophy winner, YES!



With condescending eyes, you told me
my multipurpose hands weren't worth
the grating of my voice
or my tired imagery.

It seems my lies
weren't so beautifully foolproof;
not enough paint,
too many flaws,
and certainly too little submission.

And with my lack of graceful acceptance,
in your mind, I will darken
and fade,
a muted memory, obscured
by passing days and
a constant stream of lovers
who will never value you as I did,
never hold or kiss or soothe you, free of charge.

Regretfully belated--
but better late than never--
an epiphany on my part:
you were never so perfect
after all,
just human underneath,
and undeserving of worship.

So I toppled your pedestal
and burned your temple,
and replaced you
with myself.

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No Solace In Your Eyes

Hey look, a song!



How can I write
with this hole in my stomach,
how can I think
with this worm in my brain?
How can I see
with my eyes tightly closed,
when the sun doesn't shine,
when the clouds are all stained?
And the sky seems bruised
with emotions
that pour out of me,
and we all feel so used,
and it's not our fault,
not our fault
that we don't know
what to do.

How can I sing
when my voice starts to crack,
how can I love
when I'm under attack?
How can I breathe
with these iron bands
that are crushing my lungs
and trapping my hands?
There aren't any steps
to this dance
that I don't already know,
there are no gestures,
no motions
that I haven't
already been through.

Where's the novelty,
where's the new life,
where's the new day,
how do we start over again?
How do we seize without crushing,
how do we hold on loosely enough,
how should we go about
what we've never been taught,
and can't understand?

Who can convince us
that we aren't alone?
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