Tuesday, February 24, 2015

the fatalist.

it's time to tell the world i exist. hello, world.
donate the blood. you know how
i love offerings.

"yes," i say to she, as

"yes"
is the only message my heart has
ever sent, and don't i know

i'm in love; wrapped around a finger.

i walk to fetch
through my very own labyrinth-ordeal, searching
through cacophony-
graffiti everywhere and other
presumed vandalisms

learning new words, invented by nihilists,
seeing sewer-black and pink flowerbeds

both, at once.

this is a ghetto. it has power over me.
i don't mean to let things have
power over me.

but look what has happened in effect
to not owning up to it-

everyone is poor.
i nestle among and dream.

it is not a soul i dream of.
it is the throne-queen promising royalties.

it possesses, many-headed. it wheezes
in its many-headed sleep.

it sleeps the stable sleep. it is set in its ways.

i hear it through the thin walls
of my own sleep. i hear it in my waking life as well.
"you must plunge," i say it says.

depths in water don't ever end- you
even go back in time. and coming up
for air is a desertion

of everything you believe in.

now you've got this map to chart. the world is at
our finger-tips, after all.
it freaks me out.

but there will always will be that map.
blank page. map.
inevitable everests, countries
before you- what will you name them?

make a mistake thumbing the map.
add a landmark to make up for it. no security

quite like that of the map.

i marry it wearing a red silk dress. my vows
very plainly express the way the silk feels
against my body.

now we live in a queen-sized bed together.
if i stop fucking the map
i'd be forced to face that type of death one lives through

getting all scarred by it. you become subjected

to a fate of compulsively apologizing. you know
you disappoint everyone.

fuck and fuck and fuck the dick of the map
until it is all scabbed and neither
of you can turn back.

i see those acts of vandalism again. they
stain my eyes muddied this time.

i forget what it was trying to say
immediately after it disappears from sight.

like people, all else act on impulse. the heart
says "yes", refusing to ever shut-up.
boom boom, boom boom, boom boom.
"yes, yes yes, yes." hard-wired

and drained,
it becomes a sort of abuse. it could
be the weather.
"let it have power". so it goes.