Monday, March 15, 2010

carryon, of must poems


We are all damaged
At birth,

Our blood vessels

Exhausted, onward
We constantly
Seek comfort.

the riser

u are the bartender
salting the rim of the earth.
u are shaking
things up,

yr good company.

u are the hostess
the whole room rounding,
while we straighten our shirts
in the mirror moon easily
makes of yr eyes,

good company.

the salesman on the ready
always, u make
something out of us
like it was no thing,

this us.

and this is us waiting;
we are what we make
of each other’s army.

and u time things right,
ever the doorman, you
of the first infancy
opening into us, u also pull
away from us/ and off
of us rise.

i am yet to return

i have learned to be
ill at work
ill while i am eating
ill when i’m at ease

i have learned to
leave well

so that alone, my
one hand fingers the thingimajig:
pan handle/mouse/blanket/ice bag
/pill bottle while the other massages

i have learned to be ill
in the best of company
as well as in the furthest
corner of my bed

i have learned how to
leave well

it is the returning part
i’ve yet to do well

i am lucky
i am not alone

human condition

my life is kind of fucked
up in that i only ever feel
good while i am working and

gotta focus,
get things right and
with no time for
the pain.

when i am off work and at my
leisure, the world is
my own shut-off clam,
pain trumps only
and i carry
some of each,
with both hands,

and i don’t know why,
and hardly can guess
for how much longer.

they say what doesn’t
kill you makes you stronger?

i say i am disinclined
to be the case in somebody’s
point. i carryon, is all,
and i don’t mean
vulture meat.

all that i do is to distract
myself/ this way mine
thru the thickets of
sometimes fucked up
and always the same,
and seemingly endless
thing that can only
feasibly end in death.

the same old

you ask why we are here
and i say to do well, of must

you do well
of must

you are here for the asking
as i am here on account of
it, that which begs the question,

why are we here?

of must, i say to put a lid on it,
keep it contained even like it
were fresh,
even like
you were the same
old, begs the difference.