There are archives. Sometimes I poke about in them. It's frightening what doesn't get deleted.

There's also something strangely comforting. My life was so scattered at the point this was written. Going through all the old poetry certainly is a reminder of the angst. And the intense emotions of it all. The love poems aren't all bad, some are still quite sweet and warm my heart that there was a particular type of connection, if only for awhile, and if only long ago.

But love poetry aside, this was a hate poem. I still like it. It was quick to take form. And at least for a moment it shut up the demons:

Now

The way things are now is self-explanatory
It's all so <goddamned> clear.
What amuses me
        can't be tearing your wings off
        I mean tearing wings off of bugs
        you know what I mean.
It can't be what you believe it should be,
you cant just go in search of <fucking> lightning bugs.

I crave light, powerful lightning
        because of the way things are now.
And the sublime deludes me
        and evades me like your mother's maiden name
        I mean like your mother
        you know what I mean.

It's not that complicated.
        When I talked to her she said
"The job interview was horrible -
so I went to see the dogs at the pound
In my beautiful pink brocade suit."
_That_ is the way things are.
Unreachable flowers across a deep river
are just about the only sign of beauty
in this desolate place.

If I can lay the blame, it will be on you.
Tearing wings off bugs is sort of funny in retrospect
        well not to the bugs
        and not to me, I wont do it now.
I only wanted to because they were your wings.
And bugs don't get it, the way things are.
        You don't know what I mean.

I have only seen her in pink brocade because of you,
A flaccid wingless sublime of pink,
        because when the beauty died you still kicked
        the place where it slept every time you came in the door
        just like it was still breathing.
There is no way I can make it clearer
If you learn one thing, make it something you enjoy.
I certainly don't think about bugs all the time.

____________________march 1992