Tuesday, March 20, 2007

The National - "start a war"

more poetry

Assiduously Routine

Every morning the beams
reach through the cracks
and beat my eyes open
like two godly fists
punishing a sinner.

Squinted and swollen
they carry me toward
a glistening reminder
of the night before.

The golden hue of whiskey
like a lighthouse signaling
my arrival and the beginning
of another torrid day in the valley.

With rigid fingers I strangle
the neck, sucking down life
in one incandescent gulp,
taking away my senescence.

I can smell the tang
of expired ham writhing
and cringing in the pan and hear
her tapping the tick-tock beat
of a Fembots song I played
for her the first night we fucked.

I meander through the crooked
door conceived by the belches
of the earth and wilt into
a chair, my hair spilling
onto the table like blood,
seeping into the grain.

The clang of ceramic hitting
wood bounces from wall
to wall, making its way through
the tangled pool of blood,
and up to the chasm, unearthing
my face from my wings.


She peers over her shoulder
with benign eyes.

I grimace.

Sunday, March 18, 2007