I.
weeds wave gaily
on the 14th St exit
from the FDR Drive.
my heart has abandoned
all those feelings that
no longer serve me.
II.
that deeply
annoying hum
in the background;
the moth that flutters
and suddenly dive bombs;
the stench of hot
garbage on steaming
concrete streets;
a persistent panhandler;
oh, you’re still here?
when I type “hate” into the tags
on my poetry site, the next tag
that wants to auto fill
is the code name
I use for you.
that’s not
indicative
of an unhealthy
obsession
or anything.
you don’t even care
enough to read all
the angry poems
I write about you.
why am I bothering?
he’s right, damn it.
your presence
shouldn’t be able
to ruin my night,
or even be noticed
as much as it
always is. you’re
a constant
thorn
in my side
and I wish
I could pull it out.
no, but
seriously
you have some nerve
continuing to exist
in my presence.
this whole thing
would be greatly improved
by your absence.
if I turn my head
and don’t look,
will you oblige me
by ceasing to exist?
my brother bought
an extremely large
inflatable white swan
for the pool. I helped
him to blow it up –
it’s full of our
mingled breath – but
I don’t always like
the looks of it.
it floats around
and stares at me accusingly
with its big eyes
when I’m smoking in the
middle of the night.
even when there are no
water currents, it
seems to move
of its own accord.
creepy white swan,
I’ll be glad when I
no longer have to
look at your stupid face.
I secretly hope
you get punctured by
a falling branch.
I’m so fucking sick of
playing this game. I thought
we were finally somewhat
even. and then you went
and played your hidden
hand, the ace
up your sleeve; made
the same old boring,
stupid move. well,
you got my attention, just
enough to make me
make a play in sheer
self-defense.
here’s the thing:
even a beggar can play
chess with the queen.
but the queen
can have the beggar
thrown in jail
when she’s sick
of their game.
not because he’s won.
because she’s done
playing.
welp, have fun
in your self-imposed prison.
is death by taunting
your guards starting
to look at all attractive?
word’s out on the street
that you’re having
a party. guess my invitation got
lost in the mail.
no, please. don’t bother
to correct your oversight.
well done. with a single stroke
of your pen, you defused
the bomb in my heart. with kindness
you snuffed out the raging bonfire
burning inside my soul
as if it were but
a guttering candle.
see, the furnace that feeds my art
has only two starters:
the pure immolation of love,
or the furious conflagration
of rage. everything else
is just wet kindling, the dank despair
of smoldering coal
that lurks and murks and smudges
up the air with its stench and
nobody wants to read that shit,
myself least of all.
I can set myself on fire
and burn everything down
in the white hot, purest savagery
of protesting every fiber
of the way things are,
or I can let the delicious agony
of love purify me with
its transcendent ecstasy.
if I had the choice
I know which way
I’d rather burn.
I was so incredibly
wrong about you. a lion
is a majestic beast, the King
of the jungle, a noble carnivore
that has no choice but
to be what he is. you’re no lion –
so far from a king, you’re a peasant –
a pissant, a donkey, a braying ass
standing in the street
kicking people in the face
because they saw you
at your worst and refused
to run away, always craning your neck
to try to get at that greener grass
on the other side of
the fence behind which
you put yourself.
my mistake was clearly
hitching my wagon
to the wrong beast of burden.
you’ll never move
an inch, you stubborn mule,
so I’ll leave you to your rotten
straw and hay. go ahead and
eat your words. it’ll serve you right
when they make you sick.
yes, that movie was just
the absolute
worst! except for the parts
when it was the best.
if I could edit out
the bad parts,
the parts that made me cry
and rage and storm,
I’d buy tickets
again and again.
I’d buy the DVD.
(it was better than CATS, better
than E.T.!)
if I didn’t remember
the good parts, I’d think
I was crazy for not walking out
of the theater
within the first
five minutes.
what do you do
with a trainwreck
like that?
I had to unblock you
because of the project I am doing,
which I could have excluded you from
but did not feel it would be ethical
to do so. I see you now
in cyberspace; you are no longer
shunned. but I don’t want to
Like your posts
in the group we are both in
because Liking leads to tagging
which leads to PM’ing
which leads to fighting
which leads to blocking and ignoring
in real life. we’ve been
through this cycle
too many times before.
Continue reading to my problematic friend, whose name may be Andrew
R. Brookes McKenzie 