wrote this in '04
posted 22 September 2009, 14:22 by Mike
my father my father burns
my fifthgrade brain
onto his so that it
twitches when he
twitches
cocks the rifle wanting me to
feel the
stiffness
and warm iron density
my ugly hair
in tags
blooming off
the side
of my face
eyes me and his
acne scars glow like
pots of oiled
lava
deposits this
thin metal
math equation
inside my upper arm
in second grade
that equals a cartoon mallet
smashing my mamas face
until the blood squirts
with a sharp brow
eyes me hotly
because hair is in my eyes
not in slick needles
bent back like
everything in prayer
on cold nights i stay with him
he stands in my closet naked sweating
i bring him sandwiches and he spits
his hair in greased onyx curls
a mouth full of a thousand
transluscent needles
a wound in his throat
i stand in the red steam of his face
my finger prodding the empty bag of his eyesocket
he snaps my head back
and he screeches he screeches hallelujah
a gigavolt of hallelujah
and an eye running down the side of my neck over the blood
my life has flowered like a bruise
with all the heat in the world
the man in my closet
smiles and drips from his teeth
and he takes a step
shaking behind a curtain naked
illuminated in the heat of the televsion
i shake towards the light, my face blank and wanting
my words stinking with sweat
then an applause from the TV
the old man tells me who I am but first
it’s time for the commercial break
i play the dishveled poet
reeling in amniotic fluid in a sack in times square
everyone watches me as I suffocate for lack of placenta
i play travis bickle’s mohawk
i brush with colgate and kill the president
every muscle must be tight
i am not hamlet but mel gibson as hamlet
in beaming iambic pentameter with a corpse at my ear
i play the suburban drug store employee
handing the laxative to that happy nigger
with the bleeding assholes instead of eyes
so happy i could give him a rimjob
my head has collapsed
i have no blood
there’s just dust in this body
i lay at night like a pile of sand
and i hear such a hiss from the sky
—-
For the record my biological father is virtually a non-entity. I was never abused. This poem is just a ‘pataphore or something.
EDIT: this couldn’t have been written in 2007. 2004 more likely.
thanks for the warm reception, bots. i do like to please my audience
— mike · 24 September 09 · #
rip spambots. you were annoying and i’m glad you’re gone.
— mike · 16 October 09 · #