oh my. i did it.

some semi- recent poems.
(the butler version)




aim.//11.28.
[17:03] andpulledmyhair: you can kiss me close.
[17:04] andpulledmyhair: want to go on a date sometime?
[17:07] andpulledmyhair: you are like an end-time
[17:07] andpulledmyhair: you make me want to change my relationship status.
[17:11] andpulledmyhair: you're always disappearing
[17:11] andpulledmyhair: like a firefly.
[17:11] andpulledmyhair: in the daytime.


2006, no wind for an anthem // 11.28
------------------------
i am a poor student.
i neglect deadlines.
i write poems on bubble sheets.
if he doesn't take attendance,
and i can get a B,
sounds fine to me
sounds fine to me.

what else to do? //11.28
-----------------------
i am developing a lisp.
how ever will i get elected now?
it's her fault.
past relationships always give you lisps.
you see, there was too much talking.
too much.
i streamlined my speech.
it's compact now.
simply no time for ssssssssssssssss
and tho it had to be thevered.

please try again // 11.18ish?
---------------------------
as instructed, i looked under the cap,
but it read only “sorry! please try again.”
now i know the exclamation point is there for purposes of sincerity,
and i know the cap said please, but
i didn’t really feel i had it in me to ever try again,
for the message was staring at me
in that square font
that can only let you know you’re a real failure.
i know i’ve seen it before
i’m quite sure it’s employed on my bank statement.
on my credit card bills. your handwriting, i swear.
and it will be there,
in all it’s blocky, jagged glory
catching raindrops and scolding them as they
meander down my gravestone.



sanitize this
-----------------------------------
i just sneezed and no one said “bless you”
i always say “bless you” when people sneeze.
every. time.
i’m not sitting here asking for “god bless you”
or gesundheit, just a regular, polite little “bless you” would do.
i’m serious, would that be too hard?
a choo. bless you.
you lazy sons of bitches
sitting here browsing your lame
god damn myspace pages
with awful music
and pictures of yourselves with your boobs hanging everywhere.
you know what?
i hope you all sneeze and each and every one of your hearts STOPS
respectively
i hope your SOULS FLY OUT YOUR NOSES
AND NEVER COME BACK.

the day we lost our limbs
----------------------------------------------------------------
in the storm there was no way for them to catch me
i’d had too much practice.
i pulled the branches as i ran through the dark
and when they snapped, each and every one
caught a vulture in the face.
i don’t really know where they'd come from,
maybe they traveled with the snow itself.
i didn’t really know if vultures traveled with blizzards,
i didn’t know much at all, really.
i’d seen them around the city
perched on street lights
hiding behind corners
but never out here.
these were my trees.
i knew them well.
they kept coming, though.
one after another. droves, i tell you.
and i kept running.
i kept tugging on branches to snap back.
the vultures kept dropping.
this went on for hours, branches began to break.
limbs were shattering, and i found it more difficult to find enough ammo
to ward them off.
the mayor,
in the morning,
he said it was the worst storm he’d ever seen
he made no mention of me.
he saw what was left.
he saw what they’d done.
he wouldn’t let them roll the footage of me.
just of trees.

the right to vote
---------------------------------
in my school’s newspaper
they interviewed people regarding
the recent election.
6 of 6 said they were pleased with the results.
not entirely too surprising.
5 of 6 said they hadn’t voted.
oh god, i know it’s not your fault,
but i blame you anyhow.

incessantly
--------------------------
you have blonde hair
and you obviously don’t know anything about music.
you have blonde hair and thus cannot write.
you have blonde hair and you don’t know what it means to suffer.
not like me.
not like my black rimmed glasses
not like my honda.
not like my imac.
imacs suffer.
not you, blondie.