J.

 

 

 

I cant go in your room just yet, at least not for a couple more eons. Ignoring the old cat for several

days now, there was this picture done at Sears portrait studio when me and your mother were

screwing each other like wild squirrels. I slept in the cold car, in McDonalds parking lot, on the

roof medieval and fetal, in shoes without socks, with the militants, Baraka and his one good tooth,

with Bird Parker and the other Buddha's; my hair standing on my bald head like a green beret,

quasi photographical, yeah, that 50's look, kissing Eartha Kitt

 

C'est Si Bon, oh s**t

 

letting her growl again thru my ancestral pain. Cant stand the smell of young women: Secret roll on,

nail polish remover, Dove body wash, I can taste on everything when I was happy. That potted plant

I wished would die outright or just stop being so damn green long enough so I can be free to live

in caves with the fabled alb. Those strange bathypelagic tubers  that appeared in the trash, the ones

with the string attached, that turned red with worry, the flap slung. I disbelieve in a CD of anything

but dream in 8track ceremonials, wish in BETA, carry on as if a man still came to Detroit streets to

deliver milk in his little hat and rumpled pants.I disbelieve that life forces you to grow up before the

woman inside is ready; that body image is the new lead, least we recall, that in 39 made the mind

break loose. Wont bother when the lint collects on my sweaters, just let the balls spiral themselves

into woolen snow drifts, only to bury me with my things. Wont think of your boyfriends as Dickinson

mused of trees, "just to maintain", nor the earth as flat again beyond Cuba or Grand Rapids. I disbelieve

that a man had you as a sex partner, violated you. Slapped you with an open hand. Read your poems

out loud only to dismiss them as the eye does light sensitivity. Girlish, modern handspring's of a young

smile held down, only to tumble out when loved. I disbelieve that the girl I was trying to know at nine

stopped holding my hand nine years ago, that was me playing musical sidewalk as the school bus was

yellow, again.

 

I lied. I will be drinking all day. Thinking twice about belief, laying flat as Lazarus, contemplating

Duchamp's "service of the mind" as a druken concept only.

Reviews

[LJW]

The pain here is intense. Loss. Loss of piece of self included. Ideals altered. Can I get it back? What was "it" anyway? Everything changed yet only one thing changed. I doubt my convictions. I doubt everything.

Duchamp may have chosen an object for this.
Perhaps a bear trap.
Mounted on a canvas with that door you won't enter for eons positioned dead center.

And you would know what that meant.

[Corset]

I cant express how effectively heartbreaking this write is.

[K. Louis]

What a moving piece; strange in a way to call this poetry when it feels like so much more...which is how I feel about a lot of your poems. Honest, brave, you seem like an amazing father...she was lucky, that J!
I agree with Lydia...that line...'I disbelieve that life forces you to grow up before the woman inside is ready' really spoke to me too..and the conclusion..sigh. you do like some kind of f*****g acrobatics in your writing that i'm so impressed by and admire a lot. You're legendary. I don't care about ginsberg, I didn't know him...you're like my ginsberg. Hey, and thanks for the new music...hugs

[Lydia Shutter]

Your words hold such truth....raw and honest. " life forces you to grow up before the
woman inside is ready" oh, how I identify with this line. Too many children are forced to act as adults...in many different ways....and they become cynical about life. The thing is, they also become independent...because they have to! The musings of a father who lost his daughter because of circumstance....such intensity in your words. Chilling! Lydi**

[Emily B]

my heart aches absolutely aches for the father set adrift to carry on alone

i am absolutely amazed as ever at the brilliance of your poetry, i wish this one didn't come at such a terrible cost

much love to you, dear friend