Lit of the Week 137!

Pursuing the Cerberus
PursuingTheCerberus

Pursuing the CerberusPursuing The Cerberus
[1994.]
A shipwreck
of fifteen.
My mind
spinning
naked,
rebellious wonders,
clinging needfully
to tattered fringes
of teenage wasteland—
a hologram only
vital for the young.
Innocent soul,
wet ears,
burrowed in books
or dancing with ghosts
privately upon paper
during secret evenings
fueled by an inescapable
craving—
CREATION.
Just beginning
a descent
into the simulacrum
of egg shell juvenilia,
the inception
of worlds
where a young boy
finally felt empowered,
not shy, awkward,
scared or taunted.  
Skewed by school,
my puerile cortex  
still believed poetry
a dusty beast
only the most golden
of warriors could slay.
And to write it,
well...
you had a better chance
of finding a pot of gold
at the rainbow's end
of hell.
I stuck with prose
for a decade,
there I felt
like a Godhead.
[2004.]
He reaches
into my
thick skull
with a burning hand;
The mind
awakens
from golden slumbers.  
A booming voice
rages from the pages
urging,
“I wa

Bukowski / took me down / the path of daggers



i want
bangingonkeyboards

i wanti don’t know what to write here. that i miss you? that it’s not okay and i want your arms around me? i want the smell of you and your hands on my ears, tangled up in my hair. i want you sleeping and peaceful, fingers like butterfly wings on my spine.
i want your car, you and me and highways. i want the night pressed against us and the air thick with sufjan stevens and your voice.
i want your grandmother’s house and bumping hips in that tiny kitchen, your queen size bed and cool sheets, sprawling on the carpet in bare legs and baggy t-shirts, rug burn on the backs of my knees.
i want kissing in your parent’s half-finished basement, your mother asking my opinion of her hair and you shuffling awkwardly in the hallway. i want curling up with you on a tiny couch, half-listening to movies with dust on my feet.
i forgot how you smelled and it’s killing me.

i want your car, you and me and highways. i want the night pressed against us and the air thick with sufjan stevens and your voice.




Pressure
CDing93

PressureEver since the first
Step on linoleum
Under bright, humming hives,
I’ve had one job:
Be on top
As the teens trailed away,
But not the hum,
The handholds began
To shrink, some disappearing
Like a sick limbo,
The bar lowered incrementally,
Weighed with unspoken
Disappointment,
Edged with broken glass
Scraping by,
Chest dressed in
Glistening red satin
She went before I did,
Bar decades higher
She flew beyond it;
I saw her do it

Scraping by, / Chest dressed in / Glistening red satin

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