one

can't win for losing
You ask
it's none of your business
or maybe
we want it to be
you never do
is no better.

What happens in the dark
comes to the light
sooner
than if you kept your mouth shut
i told them
shut up
and more than once

opening that door
... again dammmit
and why not?
so
quiet then not
moved
one room over
one down
we'll pay tomorrow
but now
curled in a blanket
a spindly chair standing guard
hearing what's not here

what you got is nothin i want
i told you i'm done with you
(i said nothin, i got no voice)
just get out
you got nothin i want
(what i want you can't give)
there's nothin here for you
(you take anyway)
nothing for anyone here

dark glistening sweat
another wakeful sleep
listening always,
silence the worse
lulling the senses to sleep
when the creak of the floor
gives way
to the day's final chore

but you
you got nothing on us
(we left before you got here)
there's nothing here for you

what your name is
don't matter out here
(we know who you are)
and you better to learn to count
cause this is the last time

this world here, the bottoms
has nothing to do with what
we're leaving
one more time
again
in another place
or another just the same
some other place
removed
by geography
alone

not a minute late
but none too early
just in time
another place

where's everyone goin?
goddamn the party
just go to sleep
scared to be with
more to be alone

banging on the door
stop it
leave me the fuckalone
screen door slamming
that way they do
nothing makes like
that sound
a screen door ripped open
slamming back
banging against the frame
echoing across a sun baked yard
and back again

defiance in the summer
we can take care of ourselves
in the summer
tonight
beginning at midnight
already today

i thought i was the only one
but over cross the street
i see them melting in the shade of the trees
shuffling the bones
knobby fingers
crooked all ways

it sticks to you
grows in your mind
it grows in your soul
it gets in there, twisting
into ugliness, the bile
painting dark insides
with violence, stifled
chartreuse and vermilion
streaking what's left til
we just can't run away from it

what're you gonna do bout it?
a quart of cheap
a thin white shirt
sticking to your back, we can see right through
the welps and stripes
like starved dog ribs
panting
leading to this
as you take another
and another
waiting for the breeze
waiting to breathe
when no one can hear us.

breathing
keeps the ghosts away
til we just can't take it.

Not knowing, that's the best.

Does that ever happen when you fly?

what poem?

the thought was to be more ... something ... i would write what is not usual and may be called a poem if only because it falls into no other neat category, even if it is not a "poem" either.
Iambic pentameter ... what is that?
Haiku ... five, seven and so on but the japanese (the purists) say in english it's not no matter what since the feel, the resonance of the words is essential to the form ... but in japanese, not english
Sonnets? not a clue
So what is not just rambling thought with mostly complete sentences with mostly the appopriate parts (subject, verb, etc) is what i mean to put here ...
call it poetry or not, call it scat perhaps.
But if you never do it, it just won't be.
R wants me to submit to a juried competition ... i would point out he reads mostly topical things like photos mags, consumer reports and newspapers, and tech books on tech things ... but he also reads at times anyway the other blog and -- though nice enough to not let on he reads it -- has suggested I do this thing.
Submit five pages anonymously.
That's it -- there's nothing else to do, at least not to enter anyway.
Do I have five pages? I'm chagrined to say I do ... but of what?
It's anonymous he reminds me -- yes, but if they reject me, there will be tha many more of us who know this is a silly exercise in vanity, pretending i can write when i know in all reality that i can't ... and i'm not ready to quit pretending yet that i can.

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