26 May 2009

Aphorisms for my ex - hot new poem in the Poesie Rider series!

Aphorisms for M.H.

Do you realise that I
am making the sound
of writing so that I can
look over your shoulder?

I am the cleft in the cold
recesses of your flesh. I
am like a flesh-jar.

Can you see me when you
Are looking the other way?
I am out the window.

Do you know that I read
your emails when you are
asleep? I think they are
dull.

You never introduced me to
your mother but I don’t think
she would have liked me.

I am working my fingers
into your scattered lines, I am
keeping myself busy now.

Today I called your house so
you would answer and so I
could check that you were in.
I hung up, like a serial killer.

I am prickled all over at the
thought of the moths in the blanket.

I am treating your smile like
an upturned dog. Restful.
Deceased.

I am the leaves settling on your
limbs and becoming damp.

I am the thrusting of green
shoots through soil. I am pacific.

I am waiting 40 seconds
between each ring now.

I am looking at pictures of your
ex wife once or twice a day now.
I think I am in love with her.

I cloy morosely. I cool myself
with spittle.

I cherish your admin. I retrieve
your deleted cookies.

I am elevating the ordinary
to an art form out of contempt.

I am devilling your eggs
(like a woman)

There is a peach famine and
I am employing sanctions.

You asked me how I was
doing and what I was up to.
I hate you, please die now.

6 comments:

  1. This is an awesome poem- is it based on real life experience?

    You're gifted posie rider!

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  2. alan shearer!!!!

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  3. The nutritional information on a cereal packet is more nuanced than this self-indulgent emo nonsense - more wet blanket than damp leaves.

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  4. You do your name justice Boycott. Could you explain the difference between Saturated Fat and Dietary Fibre? What's that? "No"? Well I didn't think so and that's on the back of most cereal packets. you see - there are mysterious depths to everything.

    Besides, it's called post modernism sweetheart. Anythings a poem nowadays: even my arse.

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  5. I admit that this poem was pretty arse, not one of my better efforts, apologies all!

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  6. Ps previous comment is not MINE, imposter! Poetry can do many things, it can make you laugh or cry. Think across the levels, darlings, and stop being so damn serious. Do you really think I could have written this without being just a little bit amused? Doesn't mean it's not from the heart. xx

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