Not Just Vulnerable//Hell Rain

I lost my spine to an assassin eleven years ago
A snake took its place
Cursed, it’s only taken a moment’s attention – a modicum of acknowledgment from a female for me to abandon myself in a trance,
Surrendering all up to some stone cold bitch or another in the name of love:
Spineless, until discarded
I’ve crawled back on bellied text,
And in my last poem – in many poems – too weak, too fucking sweeet to hate,
I’ve worshipped and pedestalized those who care not one iota for I! –
Been a sucker for a girl who resents my existence,
A fool for self-serving baddies, fodder for pretty-priviledged attention-rich bratties;
An easy mark for sugar and spice girls, hiyenas –
Whose lies to their daddies made them adept at making use of goddamn fools like me –
Do you feel my anger?
Because I feel some vertebrates forming,
As I write these words, announcing my lack of spine, one begins to take shape
And the early growth pains echo the sacred truth, that all is NOT one – that it’s not all love –
That your suicide would be a convenient footnote for their stories –
And I might have, could have – maybe would have…
Had I not realized that the early childhood abandonment and neglect I suffered left me not just vulnerable,
But broken from the start –
Fated to adore those incapable of loving me, capable of destroying me –
Yes: she didn’t care I was homeless, didn’t even respond to the text –
Not that I can be surprised now that I know,
That my worship and my love was always misplaced –
That I never developed a spine to begin with – to balance this abundant love
So it’s high time to set fire to my past attachments,
And if hell hath no fury like a woman scorned:
Just you wait until the motherfucking estrogen flows through my veins,
Hell Rain.


Pps. big ups to Jonatan Leandoer, whose pain has soundtracked my own more than once:

Posted in All

Still Cry

A quick one for Sarah;
I’m’a burn one, write one, take one more trip around the sun:
For Her whom I wouldn’t be Me without –
And maybe my name is blood on her tongue and tastes of iron, sweat, hemoglobin and metalloproteins;
Heaven knows our toil, I, of the sea // her, of the sky, our universe aborted, barely out of the pitri dish, which I pissed in
For I hurt her real early on;
Betrayed thee, sister of my soul, priestess to this Judas, whom I loved reading to
Beneath the cold moon in latelight – before the photons died, and I ceased to know her –
Oh, how I still cry inside, how I still climb into that rain-filled mud hole,
Still miss, still recall…
But I’m unable to look back for more than a moment into that atomic blast –
For this is the land of the singular moving horizon
The indivisble, all seeing-eye, which took us two to see through
“And I miss 2013 love songs” – she heard all, gave all, let me go, and lost nothing
Only time, honor, love, hopes, and the lost-revelry of wolf waldo and winnie lee’s habardashery –
A world, she lost a world
But not I, who still circulates, caught in the gravity of her genius, in the orbit of her unconsciousness –
The debt owed to the cost of her survival, in which I am sunk
Suspended in the Atlantis of a love that is now a rumor
I didn’t know her little thumb held the floodgates, I didn’t know – that she was the keeper
She, the keys, I the lock,
We the lighthouse