UKIAH TRAPPING
I am stuck here, and how can I
find the end? Like a wallet so
placed in a dead man's back
pocket that no one can move it
or see it, I remain unparceled
and invisible, even to this Life
itself. Oh teacher, oh teacher,
use the eraser on me! I have
nothing left to say or see, I
am grounded and useless and
silent and bereft. I can't get
anyone to speak to me : neither
the girl from Wisconsin nor
the girl from Palm Beach.
-
Believe me, oh God, I am not
yet perfect - I seep, I bleed,
I cry, I read. All those useless
things. I sit in a chair reading
Hart Crane, and all someone
else wants to talk of is Ginsberg
or Plath. Enough of that! Give
me the taste of dead loners.
-
Really, I could talk about jumping -
17 stories, no, not stories, floors,
for it's all one story really - up. I
listen to some bloated, disgusting
woman telling her friend 'everyone
has tragedies in their life.' Oh
God, you who may live in some
sickly Heaven, come down then
and smite this world anew.
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