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[paper-doll]

The Doctor
He was perfection
with stethoscope eyes
and scalpel teeth which were
covered with lies.
They were beautiful when he smiled;
a love-bite turned violent.

He made the incision,
promised salvation;
blood, babies, bright lights
and education
that never came and never will.
Now I never will.

Thus I was created
from that which I hate
into flesh I am bound to loathe,
my ironic fate.
I cannot be saved.
I cannot be cured of this.

So I met a woman
who wanted to die,
gift-wrapped for the coffin.
I asked her, “but why?”
She did not reply,
just offered with dark eyes.

Offered that which I covet;
her taught canvas skin,
her perfect bones
her beckoning blue veins
her hips which I had transposed over mine
So many times.
So many times.

No longer elusive,
they were not forbidden.
They should have been,
kept veiled and hidden.
She cannot be saved.
I cannot be cured of this.

I donned my white coat,
learnt the flavour of a collarbone
she blinked her wet eyes,
got high, and went home.
Bedclothes, blood, ink and ivory.
She tastes of all four.

I cannot be cured,
for the hatred I can forget
but it is the impossible
to disown my own silhouette.
I cannot be cured of this.
It is impossible to renounce the body.

[preferpencil]

 
Kafka. translation can make many differences...and his work is marked by this. this brings about many interpretations. and most of them not "fun"--but what i'll put here is just for fun:

based on "Conversation with a Worshiper"

man 1: "finally you've been caught,
           and I can see you've worn your
           best this time,
           and when you flog yourself all
           over the church floor.
           everyone tries not to look
           at your obvious attempt
           to needle us,
           to spurn us into action,
           to burn the floor with our own
           feet.
           and I have you by the lapels now.
           and I have a mind to kill you."

man-worshiper--replies:

           yes, you have me and do what
           You will.
           you want to know why I gesticulate
           and everywhere I lie
           I make grand motions and movements.
           I even look straight in their eyes
           to see some bend of a ray.
           a glimmer of changing hue.
           one dip and drop of recognition.
   
           I do all of this.
           Please let go of my lapels.
           I do all of this to see if I am alive.
           Because if no one watches,
           Then I must not exist, must I?
           And by your very hatred of me,
           And the way your face is now
           drawing down like a licorice cord
           ripped down the middle...
           I've accomplished a respite from
           the church floor.
           Your reaction alone,
           could last me more than 3 days...

           so I thank you. God bless.


from "Conversation with a Drunk"


man:    Your hygiene is disgusting and
           the way you hide in doorways at
           Night, and roll around on the
           narrow sidewalk in the day...
           It's a disgrace to see you and your
           Drunken Self make and part ways
           of ordinary people.
           I have reason to believe that you
           are responsible for Mr. Burden's death!
           At the very least, Mrs. Wearps' cow
           now taken ill!

drunk:   I'm sorry I do smell foul, and that
            I must seek shelter in warmth in
            public scenes. As for the Day, I am
            regularly pissed upon. kicked and
            always spat upon. So you see that part
            of my filth comes from the town itself...
            And I must say that I've heard you
            repeating over and over the individual's
            right to Be an individual in thought.
            And thoughts are what you are most
            interested. invested. inherently tested
            By. but it's the action you're taking this
            very second.
            the action of pulling me into the gutter.
            the action that says your compassion
            matches my love for the bottle.

            so if you'll excuse me,
            I'll see you on the sidewalk in the
            early morning...

[preferpencil]

a revision --unbelievable. and still needing revision.


these are yours to keep--
my hands, a harp, some keys
and the brace that jars the
back door.
I'd been saving them and
pulling out hidden floors.
boards that creaked under your
foot's balance.
at the bottom of the over-grown
closet. underneath the old
soccer shoe,
is the last piece of canvass you
splattered my face on
before you made That quiche.

the one our relatives both love.

This is yours to know.
the slow wrinkle of my forehead
and the crease that separates
my red vein from the blue
arts. these folding hands you
put into prayer position
to mock everything even now.

the way my neck curves
over the "shush!" of your long
and fighting thumb.
the leaning tower of my round
calves, smoldered into a frontier
of tic tacs and paper clips...

that is yours to have.
the gaze you give when pissed,
and the creation of stained
underwear --
no blood or fecal matter.
stains of your own oils and
fingerprints. that pit rolling
in your stomach
is laced with harmless
cyanide and I want you to
love it...

i'm burned in a tunnel of
your new vacuum. This,
your gift to me. We never
shared a moment with it
until just now.
over stew.
you want to leave.
but i've told you i quit.

before the haggling begins.
I've told you those things
special.
that this is mine
and this is mine
and that was ours.

i don't need your markers,
or the way you grin
before passing gas
a half hour after dinner.

no.
i never thought it was as
funny
as i made it out to be.

and now i wish that this
stew
had been filled by Lucretia
Borgia herself.
because this is mine.
and your leather stool
is too high for me any
which way.

i lied about so much more.
and i knew when you weren't
coming.
about to cum.
you'd get too loud right
before and the twitch
was as fake
as the march of tin soldiers.
but I came when I wanted
too all the same.
your slit was always meant
for coins.
coming over for dinner in just
one hour,

under the famous tunnel.
our favorite parents
will have quiche.

i'll be sulking in the bedroom
with my stew and writing
on chewed ribbon.
a portable press of the
letter "L" is all i need
to confirm the plane tickets.

saying I quit.
and you're leaving.
or was it?

the other way around.

[preferpencil]

paper_doll-- "The Doctor" =  and fan-fucking-tastic. have you deposited another in here? i haven't seen it, if so...and apologize if that's the case. if i am correct, and that is the first poem you've posted---you broke the brothel.

and that was a compliment!


this is me, as i read--

[Devery]

Only because you asked me to, jennifer............



Can't Keep Up (With You)

we really burned it
didn't we baby
you were adrenaline
and legs working
the pedals and
working me
we've got highway hearts
you said
and that you'd love me
only at 110 mph
with the top down


............

ditto on the paper-doll

[SeeAnne]

I am not an alcoholic and plan not to be one considering that I can't even finish a bottle of LIGHT beer. but I wrote this song and performed it once for my vocal teacher and once for my mom. my vocal teacher asked if I knew anyone who was an alcoholic. I said no, but I've watched all those educational movies in health class. and she said that if I were to play this at an alcoholics anonymous help programme(or whatever they're called)most of the people there would relate to the song. and considering that I've never met an alcoholic I honestly don't know how much alcohol they would drink in one night. so don't get mad if the facts in the song are wrong. I was 13 or 14 when I wrote it. ok checked the date, it's May. 25, 06. I was 14.

Anonymous Alcoholic
sitting here with my collection
sitting here waiting for my eyes to close
so I wouldn't see the whiskey
and be tempted again (not again)
kidney's poisoned, mind is slowing down
impaired vision continously slurring
38 voices in my head with 26 bottles of beer on the wall.

check myself in a helpful place, in this clinic I remain
an anonymous alcoholic.

cancer of the lip has begun
organs are deteriorating
a rancid smell stains my mouth
bloodshot eyes from all the nights I've stayed up
trying to finished my 13 bottles of rum
and the table is creaking from all of the
bottles it's trying to support
but only the hospital can support me now

check myself in a helpful place, in this clinic I remain
an anonymous alcoholic.

I am on my death bed now
slowly and painfully expiring
waited for this day to come
my bad habits are finally gone
life is now controlled
by a machine that beeps and echoes
my life away from me and my family
and everything else.

check myself out of this hell but I still remain: an anonymous alcoholic.

Ps. I was anonymous-alcoholic on the old box.

[lifeisnocabaret]

i wrote this last night.
i'm not sure if it's any good though...


You’re only about 200 yards away from me
But we’re living in completely different worlds
It didn’t used to be like this
Remember way back when?
When everything was fine and dandy
Everything was hunky dory
Everything was just peachy
Now look where we’ve ended up
But maybe it was inevitable
Maybe it was fate
Maybe it was predetermined
But I suppose that it doesn’t even matter anymore
The truth is that karma is going to kick your ass one day
Karma can be a bitch
So go ahead and do it
Just get on with it
I don’t give a shit
I’ll just laugh and say
“Fuck you, you dramatic, passive aggressive bitch”
Go have a panic attack

[Rob]

Is 38 mid-life?

Sitting
on cinderblocks
smoking pot
and
drinking beer
in the back yard
of
my mother's house

I never thought
I'd end up
here

A wife
and
two kids
a mortgage of my own
and then
another.

Then again,
I never thought
I wouldn't.

[paper-doll]

paper_doll-- "The Doctor" =  and fan-fucking-tastic. have you deposited another in here? i haven't seen it, if so...and apologize if that's the case. if i am correct, and that is the first poem you've posted---you broke the brothel.

and that was a compliment!


this is me, as i read--

Awww thanks guys.

/blush

It's the first I've posted here.  But not the last!  Maybe.

[Devery]

Shall we take your maybe as a yes? ^

........................


Lost Treasure

Stones lying in random spacing
on the smooth, wet sand
form a fragile stability.

Under the sand and the
rocky shelf that runs from
the shore to the first dropoff -
a long-unseen ship lost
centuries ago in a storm
that no one remembers.

From the dunes and tall grasses
the lights of the lower lakers
shine on the horizon -
the persistent,narcotic sound
of the waves
sea-saw on the shore.

I thought of these things -
and how I tied your shorts
to your leg in the icy water-
the shipwreck invisible below -
grinding into each other
with our sex for warmth -
forgetting the hard rocks
and your untied shorts that
slipped, unnoticed, away -


all of this-
and visions and
memories of visions
that became
nothing -
in the morning
you left me
and drove away -
to waters and stones
and ships that I
will never see.

[tonic pancake.]

rob, i'm pretty sure that's my favorite of yours so far.  aces.   

[tonic pancake.]

loverde
so suddenly it manifests
what we have -
laughing at ex-girlfriends
before meeting him that night
venting your grievances
and tickling his chin
holding hands
kissing his face
dancing
fucking
- friendship.

[muckymuck]

UNTITLED

This bloody massacre
Thats flowing through my veins

The scars don't heal with time
And you can't hear me crying
Because it's all invisible

Take me to an age
Whwn I felt no rage
When nothing here was real
And all I did was feel
My life was so simple

So tell me if they know
That all I do is loathe

The pill I took you said
Would tell me the truth
That it's all in my head

[tonic pancake.]

hai!  ku!
smoking in the woods
behind all the parking lots
our infinity.

david
oh, how you forgot
times that came before all this
one - and i'm in love

ay!
seasons crippling
my love slowly turns to rust
again, forgotten.

[SeeAnne]

Blood Fetish
Red thick liquid seeping back in
She was dead, then ressurected. But still the air was thin
Toxic air filled her lungs as she sucked at the sky
Dark an.gel, covered in blood spread her wings to fly

Ascending into the dark cold space
The blood running thickly down her thighs, a gothic embrace
The zombie in the sky, dark an.gel she was
A fly she was covered in blood searching for lust

A grotesque smile on her face she could not rid of
A man looks up to discover death from above
Blood injected into her sucking life from another
Feeling good about it, blood fetish.

Ps. I don't write about these things anymore, so don't be alarmed.