The more I expect the less I get. The bigger the appetite the more I forget just how much my stomach can hold, the way you used to hold me is inadequate, the food I liquidate makes me constantly hungry, so I eat even if there is no space to taste how delicious this all is. I can only feel the hunger now, and the fatter I get the more empty I feel inside, where you used to be, when I was capable of feeling still, the constant Americanization of requirements for emotional fulfillment, what am I seeking, the trophy of winning or the joy of playing, because right now I am losing on both fronts, and the war has gotten stale, the soldiers wasting away, I see you: seasoned and reasoned, walking away, having seen that this war is done, even if it isn’t finished
When I used to be skinny, everything poked out from my skin, selfsufficient hurt upon contact with the chair, wall, the bed that wasn’t quite soft enough to make for my lack of body. Now I stand with weight, padded against the things that hurt, the chair, the wall, the floor and your body. When I used to feel everything, I now feel nothing, the before and after equally painful.
"excessive food intake"
might be
the only way
to tell how i am doing
my mother seems to think
if she's still eating
she must be okay
the more she eats
the better life is
meanwhile,
i see her growing thin.
my mother is a loving woman
my mother is a caregiver
my mother is a worrier
my mother is a fool
sometimes
it frightens me
sometimes
the degree to which
she does not know me
but maybe it is because
she is often so afraid
to know herself
and what am i but an extension
of herself?
might be
the only way
to tell how i am doing
my mother seems to think
if she's still eating
she must be okay
the more she eats
the better life is
meanwhile,
i see her growing thin.
my mother is a loving woman
my mother is a caregiver
my mother is a worrier
my mother is a fool
sometimes
it frightens me
sometimes
the degree to which
she does not know me
but maybe it is because
she is often so afraid
to know herself
and what am i but an extension
of herself?
Sunday, September beings
The fat phase is well in progress
The belly has emerged and droops Over
the boundaries it has come to find Restricting
We sat on the roof and chatted
The three of us all a little drunk
We pushed each other around
Testing the taste of hate
I am all soft now
Soft spoken
soft to the touch of others
Every motion on me
Feels impossibly violent
Late at night I feed and vomit
The words I have always said
Clutching the bed in a flayed position
With the intent of a dead man's embrace
I woke up tired today.
I woke up tired.
I woke up.
I woke.
"I am, I am, I am."
The fat phase is well in progress
The belly has emerged and droops Over
the boundaries it has come to find Restricting
We sat on the roof and chatted
The three of us all a little drunk
We pushed each other around
Testing the taste of hate
I am all soft now
Soft spoken
soft to the touch of others
Every motion on me
Feels impossibly violent
Late at night I feed and vomit
The words I have always said
Clutching the bed in a flayed position
With the intent of a dead man's embrace
I woke up tired today.
I woke up tired.
I woke up.
I woke.
"I am, I am, I am."
reverse chrono
Thinking I had the appointment set for half an hour earlier
wondering why that part is hurting while
the subway car took a sharp speed to me.
Into the tunnels I read the apocryphals
you and your women and men,
the children that never came.
Her little slit of a vagina, there
for all to touch, once, twice, more.
the most beautiful babies, now
you have them, and you have now.
Do I owe you anything?
Sometimes
you
realize your tongue
doesn't really belong
in the space inside
your mouth and everything
turns really uncomfortable.
And suddenly one of us dies. Death is always sudden. You have the umbrella for the rain, but you're going to get rained on anyway.
He does not know you as you know you:
he cannot hate you as you hate you.
If everything that could've gone wrong did, we would've gotten the chance to start over by now.
They go express for you at night, deserted routes wandering in a normal crowd.
The sick mind is observant: it knows what to look for.
Untied strings, slinky socks, nostrils of lotus holes,
levers up, rails, toys,
rats, discard, disregard, roll
and crush! airbrushed lady
too pretty for the rest of us, walk
among us, flaw in the ordinary,
prized unknown.
Dark in the morning and yellow
lights underground.
Ideals are easily upset,
hugging a box of vanilla wafers.
The rustling of leaves and wings.
Birds as tame as rooted trees.
Next stop, last stop.
we are God,
God is us,
God is dead,
so are we all.
But his resemblance I must not describe.
The rest, you have seen.
wondering why that part is hurting while
the subway car took a sharp speed to me.
Into the tunnels I read the apocryphals
you and your women and men,
the children that never came.
Her little slit of a vagina, there
for all to touch, once, twice, more.
the most beautiful babies, now
you have them, and you have now.
Do I owe you anything?
Sometimes
you
realize your tongue
doesn't really belong
in the space inside
your mouth and everything
turns really uncomfortable.
And suddenly one of us dies. Death is always sudden. You have the umbrella for the rain, but you're going to get rained on anyway.
He does not know you as you know you:
he cannot hate you as you hate you.
If everything that could've gone wrong did, we would've gotten the chance to start over by now.
They go express for you at night, deserted routes wandering in a normal crowd.
The sick mind is observant: it knows what to look for.
Untied strings, slinky socks, nostrils of lotus holes,
levers up, rails, toys,
rats, discard, disregard, roll
and crush! airbrushed lady
too pretty for the rest of us, walk
among us, flaw in the ordinary,
prized unknown.
Dark in the morning and yellow
lights underground.
Ideals are easily upset,
hugging a box of vanilla wafers.
The rustling of leaves and wings.
Birds as tame as rooted trees.
Next stop, last stop.
we are God,
God is us,
God is dead,
so are we all.
But his resemblance I must not describe.
The rest, you have seen.
yes mother
i know, i am
so very concerned about myself too.
on the good days, though,
you don't have to worry.
on the bad days, you have to
worry. there's nothing else to do
on those days.
so very concerned about myself too.
on the good days, though,
you don't have to worry.
on the bad days, you have to
worry. there's nothing else to do
on those days.
i keep my company
hold the glory of the past in me
squeak and shuffle some
sounds of thanks
and brush stale crumbs off my sheets
and the mice who come at night,
feeding on pieces of the floor,
squeak and shuffle some
sounds of thanks
i had loved before, though not as a mother.
i am a mother now, and drop my books
when i hear the baby calling me. phantom
winds blow the curtains in her bedroom,
so i close the windows, so she may sleep.
there is enough air here but when she wakes
i wake. i wish i could run out of the room
and into another, take with me the window.
i am a mother now, and drop my books
when i hear the baby calling me. phantom
winds blow the curtains in her bedroom,
so i close the windows, so she may sleep.
there is enough air here but when she wakes
i wake. i wish i could run out of the room
and into another, take with me the window.
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