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Poem for my last days as this particular person.
OKcomputer

M. Russo told things with her eyes.
 1
that thing in the corner
 2
the thing that was me, something loud about it.
 3
She saw it and she couldn't stab it to the wall
 4
so easily
 5
like every other thing,
 6
i weren't no fly and i weren't no photograph.
 7
just something so powerful
 8
like a bible balancing on top of a pin needle
 9
everyone's afraid to speak to it.
 10
that was me, i had no friends,
 11
made a few acquaintances
 12
for credibility. M. Russo wondered why
 13
i made no art, why i could not hold up the clay with my arms shakin like a wind blew through them
 14
it's called being hungover
 15
and overqualified.
 16
 
 
these days i'm sitting in my childhood bedroom
 17
there's an ant infestation
 18
they're coming up between the cracks in the old
 19
hard wood floor
 20
my father pulled up the carpet four years ago.
 21
my feet stick to it, the cold grows up from it
 22
and covers the walls and
 23
goes under my blanket to be with me.
 24
these days i am just a cold animal
 25
between unwashed sheets,
 26
shut my eyes tight
 27
steering myself into the blue overhead, take a left.
 28
 
 
there that fat dog under the blanket
 29
shivers, got ants in its hair
 30
long hose titties now.
 31
same brilliant thing as before
 32
but without an audience.
 33
dear god how much longer
 34
until i can climb across the sky like those other guys.
 35

27 Mar 08

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what is it with you and ants?
 — unknown

maybe edit out 20%
 — unknown

22-28 makes me dizzy
 — CrudeEcstasy

powerful. beware of the imaginary treadmill
 — unknown

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