life-giving abrasions

BOOK 1
BEYOND THE DARKNESS

life-giving abrasions
(ballads and other disorders 2)

1

there is something else
there's something else, the anti-future
i see the lights on the headlights
blinding cars' faces
some new gods
somewhere where everybody's more interesting
we'll be blown away by the winds, and I’m sure
no one will be happy
they've taken away the land, the reality of winter's anxiety
do you know what it means to kill?
it's the same as writing a poem

something else will happen?
is it just depression?


2

the captains here are hiding something
what treasure hunters are looking for
we'll find revolvers, stashes
all the things the horror left us with
two thousand and twenty-second year
it's January, it's January evening
I'm hiding under a blanket
I cry helplessly for help,
while those who knock on the door
never seen an alternative
they're used to accepting what's going on
as a chain of violence, a variation of prison
I write a suicide note in the door peephole:
"I'm a poet, I've never written a denunciation
but, Lord, bitch, they'll hang you too
over an ebony tree in Ohio..."

ah, how many exterminators over the woods...
my Macbeth, we're doomed!


3

my creepy children
where are you going?
who shall go to gather you up?
through fields and ravines?
you are the valiant dead, the outcasts
I’ll never sell you to anyone
I’ll never you to anyone
I’ll never you
I’ll never
I am the siren, I am the grin of the night
I’m the limit, I'm the edge of the board
Mr. Simic, I'm getting ready to jump
into the night, I'm ready to disappear, East Side
the East Side is even in hell
so here I am in the underworld
limbo for moths

look at Harlequin and forget
look at Harlequin and cry, my patrician


4

the faceless ones speak to me
the elongated figures of the past
I pretend that, I see no one
I pretend that as, I close my palms
my surroundings evaporate from reality
I pretend that, I don't hear the long howl
I pretend to be happy, smiling, playing scramble
with a girl who hanged herself on the silence of her house
and never again have I heard her sing
oh, she sang beautifully!
we listened to Aerosmith’s
and life seemed a preposition in the sentence of eternity
so the linguistics of love
was replaced by the blackness of eternal remorse
redemption is impossible!
so said the aged monk
and threw himself off the cliff
and never surrendered the city that his enemies wanted
that's what a poet does
with his life
so does the raven, condemned to a corpse
twenty-twenty-three

and numbers are given to us on the back...
and the sun will swap with the moon correct...