Thursday, August 28, 2014

Here's Some Proof That I Write Terrible Poetry

I am so tired of

I           my sucker-sided shower caddy
            falling, with a series of crashes and
a          thuds, like unseen slapstick,
m         and of
            wakeful hours, after
s          dreams of a zombie apocalypse,
o          a thinly disguised xerox of The Last of
            Us, like, get a life, brain, at
t           least make up your own nightmares
i           and of
r           reaching for Visine bottles, only to
e          knock them over, as if clumsily, but it’s
d          just bad design,
            and of
o          my nightgown, bunching up, exposing my
f           self lewdly to my own sheet set

            and of
            doing the dishes
            hearts that house spines (pitiless artichokes)
            gravity’s effect on
            me and my shower caddy and
            the whole damn


Slightly after Justin Marks, whose book You're Going to Miss Me When You're Bored I read this week. All due respect to him and his credits (and I even enjoyed the poems, for the most part), but it made me feel like poetry could be any old thing about your life. So here's that. I had something I needed to express

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