2 poems

so, I haven't shared these, even though I wrote them a while ago, during the "last breaths" fire ritual. This is what I burned, among other writings. I've edited them crazily since the ritual, and only now think they are ready for criticism. I find them really interesting pieces when looked at next to one another because they are completely different voices (identities) inside the body (of the body). I'll perform them tonight at D's:

If these were my last breaths I'd want you to know that
I do care
I do care
I do care
I

do.
care.

softly
without a sound
I tremble... against your other secrets.
a wanting to.
a not kiss.
we cant here not there. not bound.
but broken ashtrays and moldy candy bars.
a care too sweet for pleasure.

If these were my last words I'd want you to hear my even breathing as I recite the story of an un-cared for child who grew up to be me.

who grew up to care. quietly.

against the lashings of dysfunctional family dynamics--
against the forced feeding of dicks and more dicks.

white dicks. blue dicks. and red dicks.

If these were my last thoughts I'd like to think I led a good life. A fullfilling life.

I led myself to more questions than answers.

I led myself to great thinkers and poets.

I led myself to you.

Whom I care for like every spider I find in my bathtub.

let me place you in a an empty pickle jar and care-y you back to a known world.

these are my last moments and I need you to know what I'm feeling. not through words-- never through words.

Collapse my chest
and
open my heart-book.
pg 22.

a care poem.

a do care.
a please care.
a cant touch.

it's only despair when I start thinking about it.

feelings... are another kind of feeling.

what is this feeling? this deep enlightenment and shadowed longing?

is this just my age-- my unwillingness to move on to less complicated situations?

this is a complicated feeling.

a simple desire.

h o l d me. because I do care.

h o l d me. so I can mend you.

quietly. effortlessly.


simply.



care.


care-ess me.


be-longing.

which--
held, to this face.



(2nd poem):

I fell in love once. suddenly.

(BAM!)

It was a drive-by shooting
rolling up in a 4-door LUV with tinted windows
blasting andrea gibson and ("finger quotes") "magic bullets"

it made me trip and stutter on a string of blasphemy, all the while hoping to be...(raises eyebrow) finished off.

I had meant to scream for more... help, but the blood rose up... then down and filled my mouth hole. twice.

Now I wear heavy leather to conceal a chest with riddles and half-moon crescents. blood, saliva, and se-(look up at audience, then back down to page)-salt.

Although I've never regretted shooting someone in the ass-- I hope my assailant gets fucked. over. and over.

As it is, I must ask you, the audience, to do me... one simple favor:

press me face-down into your carpet and fill each of my holes with mounting anticipation then blow my fucking head off-- life's too short for a bleeding heart.


-g