Sinister: Poetry Parrot coming in for a landing....

[Joan of Dark]

I was NOT asked  to parrot a poem and this is not even a poem but still......
maybe this could be that one last letter of the girl in brier's poem....4
months ago......

September 29, 1984 Dear so and so
 Gather me up because I'm lost
 Or I'm back where I started from
 I'm crawling on the floor rolling on the ground
 I might cry I won't go home

 So here's the story
 I am turning up in circles
 And I'm spinning on my knuckles
 Don't forget that there are circles left undone
 And very close to me
 Forgive me Comfort me

 I'm crawling on the floor Rolling on the ground
 There's a blanket wrapped around my head
 I'm moving in a line that's shaped like this
 I'm holding in my breath I have a room
 Can you tell if I am lying

 Don't forget that I'm living inside
 The space where walls and floor meet
 There's a box inside my chest
 An animal stuffed with my frustration
 Can you hear me?

 Don't forget that I'm alone when you're away
 You make me act like other people do
 Forgive me Comfort me You comfort me
 You make me die I'm gonna cry I won't go home

 Don't kill the god of sadness
 Just don't let her get you down
 See that man inside that book I read
 Can't handle his own head
 So what the hell am I supposed to do?
 I'd like to know how he died

 My hands are shaking
Don't you love me anymore
 I only need a person, keep my shoulders
 Stand around lie down
 Move your hand above the floor

 Gather me up because I'm lost
 Or I'm back where I started from
 I'm crawling on the ground
Rolling on the floor
 I'm gonna cry
You look for me

 Love Kristin, P.S. keep them coming
-----------------------------------------------------

*my bit ......*

now i don't know, maybe this is just an effort to prove myself I'm still alive,
as if this matters to anyone but anyway, and striving to breathe somewhere in
between the crowded sidewalks and the grey dirty walls of the cities.

falling .....
helplessly in the deep creases on the skin of my hands.......
and the painful grin of angst my smile has become.

ha, not that anyone really cares.......
i don't either.
i may survive
come through
and off into the light
or the darkness
i don't mind
or i may not as well.......
its ok by me..

but anyway
everyone is walking again and again
over the same circles he has deeply carved onto the ground
trudging and shuffling his feet over his own footsteps......
over and over for years.
and as time goes by this circular pit gets deeper
and the getting out of it more difficult..
you are spinning around.....
and like the needle of the turntable......
stuck on the same coil......
Mortal.
for you.

but you may as well just choke in the acrid vomit of your own thoughts.
or set your lungs on fire as you're trying to breathe deeper and deeper and
DEEPER.
Ha girl......

your mind's exploding
tiny
narrow
and
restricted.
by the four walls of your room.
your house
your classroom.
your uni.
your office.
sitting by the window doesn't help.
near the coffee machine.
ha.

wrapped up in the tin of your car.
my beautiful sardine.you.
picking your nose after you smudge your lips with more lipstick while waiting
for the traffic light to turn green.

ha.....
I've been wandering in the dark .
feeling my way in the dark.
but i can't touch anyone.
and noone can touch me.

IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?
IF YES PLEASE DO STAY AWAY!

staggering on the verge of something i can't make out...
But the vertigo of the F
                                  a
                                     l
                                       l
                                             is beyond my resistance.........

I'm afraid the vein on my arm, that prominent big one will one day burst
inexplicably......
i can't take that out of my mind every time i look at my arm.....

please.
don't move when you see me bashed down on the ground with blood running from
the corner of my mouth.
it's not your fault and it's not mine.
it's not a fault even

let me die please?

my eyes are filled with water.
my eyes are filled with wonder.




> I was asked to parrot a poem, so I give you some Bukowski:
>
>
>
>    an almost made up poem
>
> I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
> blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
> they are small, and the fountain is in France
> where you wrote me that last letter and
> I answered and never heard from you again.
> you used to write insane poems about
> ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
> knew famous artists and most of them
> were your lovers, and I wrote back, "it's all right,
> go ahead, enter their lives, I'm not jealous
> because we've never met.  we got close once in
> New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
> touched."  so you went with the famous and wrote
> about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
> is that the famous are worried about
> their fame -- not the beautiful young girl in bed
> with them, who gives them THAT, and then awakens
> in the morning to write upper case poems about
> ANGELS AND GOD.  we know God is dead, they've told
> us, but listening to you I wasn't so sure.  maybe
> it was the upper case.  you were one of the
> best female poets and I told the publishers,
> editors, "print her, print her, she's mad but she's
> magic.  there's no lie in her fire."  I loved you
> like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
> writes to, keeps little photographs of.  I would have
> loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
> cigarette and listened to you pee in the bathroom,
> but that didn't happen.  your letters got sadder.
> your lovers betrayed you.  "kid," i wrote back, "all
> lovers betray."  it didn't help.  you said
> you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
> the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
> bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
> hurt and forgotten you.  I wrote back but never
> heard again.  a friend wrote me of your suicide
> 3 or 4 months after it happened.  if I had met you
> I would probably have been unfair to you or you
> to me.  it was best like this.
>
> -Charles Bukowski
>
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        +---+  Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list  +---+
     To send to the list mail sinister at missprint.org. To unsubscribe
     send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
     majordomo at missprint.org.  WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister
 +-+       "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper           +-+
 +-+  "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
 +-+    "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000     +-+
 +-+  "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000  +-+
 +-+               Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa                 +-+
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