Erasure poem (#2)

Among the secrecy of music
The trouble went on, lightly
Glance upwards and
Fumble For Words
Tell a story to pass on to the next still heart.
Good lord,
The last few hours fled, eagerly
Enthusiasms that betrayed this moment
Turn back to the deep, resonant tones and rippling notes
Don't you want to know the words?
The confusion that was overwhelming her, numbing her senses:
The circle of light
Glimpse the quizzical eyes.

Schizometric Writing #1

Starting NOW: Dust in the air cold air Can’t wait til tomorrow >< STANDS FOR HURLEY stupid logo fucking symbols Sandals STENO, toxic YELLOW Torn tore page out Dark room Breathe again DARK-ROOM closet Waiting waiting WAIT FOR ME No, don’t never mind! Flash batteries mind always running ALWAYS RUNNING and yet (and yet) ‘have yet,’ not ‘am yet’ grammatical errors couldn’t care less APOSTROPHY (sic) E that felt good to say unnecessary running ALWAYS RUNNING out of time squiggles where did he go in skinny letters Where am I going need want have MORE TIME broken, it’s okay.
There’s always tomorrow (with one m and two rs).

Voice

My voice.
When do I use my voice?
I use it to laugh
Or to cry
Usually to laugh.
And say “I love you,”

Often
I don’t use my voice at all.

Silence.
It’s not always useful.
I tend to use it when I don’t
Feel the least bit
Useful.
Like I have nothing to say.
When I'm too scared
To use My voice.

Bones

Fragile pieces of skeleton
Light dependable sticks
Building and rebuilding
Our internal support system
Cartilage that thickens
Darkens
Here to stay
(for a while)
Fragile pieces
Porous inside
Falling apart with time
Bone-eating
Bacteria
Skeleton
Falls apart
With age
Stiff, straight channels
Hold us above ground
Suspension
Then we fall
Pushed out
Withered hands, curved spine
Bones destroyed.

Senses

“Taste”
Candy.
In bright colored wrappers
Bright blues and greens
And pale pink bubblegum
Blow bubbles
Growing
Growing
Going
Pop.

“Vizual”
Smiles. Braces.
Metal on my teeth.
Dark hair
Short and shining
On pale skin
Short legs.
Big smile.
Bright colors
Decorative
Memorabilia in my room.
Shiny things, flashy things
Posters and bottles
Street signs, cones
And other things stolen
From the city.

“Soundz”
Laughing.
I am always laughing.
It doesn’t take much to set me off--
And I can stay that way for nearly ever.
I sing, too.
But only when no one’s around.
Music is always pouring
From my room
Drum beats like rain
Guitar solos sharp and quick like lightning
And terrible singing -- a tornado siren
Coming from my room.

Beauty Head piece

Face of plastic, tinted wax
Pink lips with bleached white teeth
A complex figure of inner strength
A lawyer, a doctor
An actress.
A woman going places in the world
With perfect hair, a business suit
And a matching briefcase, too.
Curlers in synthetic gold strands
Cheap, plastic jewelry
And pretend lipstick modeled after those in the real world,
Made of fish scales and whale blubber.
Barbie the activist ©
Polluting the air with her hairspray
And convincing girls everywhere that huge tits and no waist
Are all that make a capable woman.

Ind. Piece.

I haven't had a chance to type up and post my in-class work, and I won't be home all weekend. Instead, I thought I'd post something I wrote outside of class.

(Untitled)

I feel like a victim in this dress
With tender, fragile tufts and frills
Leering men behind cigar smoke
Tap their ashes and look on.
I feel ashen,
And embarrassed under their gaze.
As I walk home late afternoon
I see a man huddled at the foot of a hill,
In an abandoned park
With only trees to converse with,
But he isn't up for talking, anyway.
Sunlight glints off something in his hand
And I notice he's crying.
The tears also shine in the sun.
I've almost passed the park when he lifts the something to his head;
A click
And a boom
And I no longer feel like a victim.