Unfinished Work

Just three unfinished poems. Wanted to go through the motions of typing them out, to see what I thought. All are meant to be read out loud, I think.

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Sister
You talk of wombs ripped open
Invaded
destruction of a woman's soul
the resultant impossibility of heaven
of women who shold have been
conquering creatures of creation
of women without wings
exchanged for knees run raw
from too many prayers to forget his breath his hands on the neck

Sister
spare a moment for a boy
a boy torn and wrecked body crushed
body crushed body infused with poppers with drugs with fear
boy that should have been a man
a man strong a man gentle a man a symbol of justice and of hope
Where did that man go sister

I do not mean
to imply that your sisters pain her tears her tears (RIIIIIP) are less then any other pain tears (riiiiiiiiiiiip) tears
a woman clipped
a woman raped
a woman reduced to mistrust to fear
because of hate
is one of the worst tragedies this world has to offer us
flowers turned to cunts by pounding penises
singing turned to screaming

but that penis pounds more then pussy
it pounds a boy too scared to breathed to say no to know to say know
too scared too young to know this is not what this is supposed to be

A man three times his size
fucking any trace of the man that should be from this boy
a man too selfish
too greedy
too uncaring and destroyed himself to tell this boy what a man is
how to be one

(UNFINISHED)


Exploding on Identity
Upon introduction one says who one is
this is difficult for me

I am at a point
a glorious golden precipice     set above a pristine pool
or a terifyingly turbid sea
I'm not sure
You see, while I was talking, I jumped from that point
and it's a long way down
to where
I hope
I'll have something of a clearer image of who I am

It's hard to tell
With this wall speeding beside me
as I plummet towards my doom
so many people roads choices are yet to be known
and the ones above are gone so fast
I can't tell what they mean
how they've changed me
until I am several hundred feet further down this wall
and I can write a poem about them on small pieces of my soul that I set loose to leave record of where my spirit has been

Another problem.

What if the end of my plummeting
is not a happy ending?

Thoughts like this send a black cloud of panic to cover my eyes blocking out the wall
making me scream STOP but it doesn't and the cloud doesn't leave me
until I can remember
that I am here to enjoy the fall
I wanted to be here
I am here to be caught away
carried
completed by the light sick feeling in my stomach
like every flight of every bird there ever was
is mixing around with my lunch
and waiting to burst out at the moment I scream
and explode all over my future

(FINISHED, NEEDS EDITS)

Sheila
when i was six my imaginary friend died in a car accident. her name was sheila.

she, of course, served only as a convinient metaphor for my naive innocence and the bliss that came with seeing the world through the eyes of a child that knows nothing of real pain
hunger
hopelessness
of the scaring shards thrown by a reality so sick, so hard, so cold, that most sane persons would die upon a merely fleeting glimpse of it

Sheila was a dragon
her hide the hue of a thousand summers worth of blue skies
her eyes every star that ever shone and was wished upon by someone in need brought down to look me in the face and tell me that I am special
her wings
the very essence of uninhibited creation

my mother and i were driving
i do no remember where but i do remember the round-about with the bushes in the middle that made a dark, inner place
i imagined that place full of mystery, secrets and i remember sheila smiling down at me

another van pulled up beside us inside was a small girl who smiled and waved at me through the window

they pulled just ahead of us
a truck swerved too fast into the circle lost control
my mother slammed on the brakes
sheila flew out the window
put herself in the truck's path
but the truck was going too fast and it slammed into the van and into sheila with a sound like the echo of the last gasps of air of a million people
and a sick punch to my idealism


(not sure if this is finished)