babble 99 - April, 1998 at 37th Street Loft Reading
Channel: Poetry for Cowards
Date: 2022-11-29

ninety-nine, June 29 1998 

Stop what you are doing and sit up and beg for my forgiveness because now we are finished with this game.  We are done eating blue fruit and staining our lungs with the poison of other people’s words, done chanting candelabras and melting into each other.  Nothing else is important but the feeling of desperation that each and every one of us becomes when we open up the bottle pothole of sound and begin to drink from the long thin neck that anguish of each other’s machinations, each other’s father’s eating blue oysters on decks of sunbathing concubines and wondering where our mothers are when they should be cooking our dinners and getting us ready for school and wondering where our sisters are when they should be doing their homework and melting into the telephone and transporting their eggs along the deviated septum of boyfriend’s noses and conjuring up the magic of our special sauce and then negotiating treaties with the less powerful eons and wise men that slaughter instead of talk and then we wonder where we have gone and who we have become and that is when we realize that all along there is no such thing as identity there is only a minute and a second and then each person evaporates into the sun and we dies each minute and second and become a new brand of Eggo waffle each and every second and minute.  There is no excuse for silence.  Speak and rise up against the plentiful mob and wonder about who we are each day you begin to open your mouth because you must cherish the way we are each second or you will never know that second to be the true identity of self until you evaporate into the self-consciousness of eons ago and minutes ahead and then you don’t know who you are anymore and it gets very very confusing.       I once melted in your agony .