Tuesday, January 26, 2010

umewe (poem by brad hamers)

she had a small house she kept inside
her lawn had a pear tree that was now cut in half
they did everything for the amount of time it took to taste the fruit (for the amount of rings they could fit under their eyes)
if it didn’t happen right away they would spit it out
they’d rather stand around in their pigment (color) than run
i’d rather drip in place right over a spinning wheel then puddle in my intention
flash flood in my water bowl
my goal’s the high water mark i made with my happy tears
i’m my own goalie my own take cover duck duck goose and down feathered catcher’s mitt my own signal for the speed at which i drip the speed at which the wheel runs me over over and over and over again we’re lazy we’re lazy we’re lazy
like i didn’t build my own tears
out of the wrong fluid
oil would have been better
considering all the synthetics
easier to supplement the day
add myself to what’s already completed
money makes money predisposition makes the obvious
you think it out i’ll shotgun the couch
take a hit without ever being touched
doubt on the dial don’t touch the flame they’re all scared to touch the (flame) the temperature at which they were fired(burned)
burned and skin running off in thousand different directions
like a lost tongue feeling its way around on the walls
whichever corner gets me fastest to my own tendency and weaknesses
whichever cut gets me fast enough into a groove
lay the knife down (lie to a handgun) put the needle on one
forget your third eye dug out like a sponsored sports game’s warm up bench reaching for the seventh inning stretch all the way out inning number 28 i can’t remember my birthday they said it was the year of myself of the new pig pigged out on itself
jersey number was a series of onesandzeroes - a way to remember misinformed
full of bullshit and RAM
full of flower and power steering fluid
maple syrup all over my head
butter shoved up under my skin color
you can tell by the school you were given chase your fears (pulled out feathers) or your dreams
you choose and chose to sit eating the tuffet you were scared would give you spiders and mice
four mouse attached to my 24inch flat character
i was all attachment in every email
all clenched teeth and equipped with a shield for biting down
they all spoke an hour a minute
i held out my 24hour mouth guard
ahundred megabytes deep into the mold
we made pretend to compare our green
tending to our green
it’s not what you do but what you are
he was always eating while he was doing it
always nothing but what he took
objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear

she always had skyscrapers in her house
a thousand headed south birds in her sky
her (nervous) break-down was a ghost commune no one lived in
a bomb that kept teasing to go off
but we squatted in
her outlet like an extension of our own walls
we all talked like sledge hammers and wrecking balls
all swung in each other’s sleep
every tooth hanging out every shoe with a foot
we got nowhere (but in our own mouths) but where we wanted to be and could see ourselves
you bought the to-heavy-to-move furniture and slip cover
lie down on it
be all the can good that you can be
make cereal of your corn
numbering your coin flipping for which dead eye to cover first
buy you into heaven
every breath (taken) -a mugged old lady
a security camera crying in the street
she holds back what she sees
she keeps it like an ocean holding back its tide
washed up in its own bleach
harpoon through her ink
forgot it was used for defense
tried sticking (with) it through the time like sentences made of metal weighing down their word (their words were all ankles)
but who was counting
who was cutting off fingers and chopping down stilts
she made couch of her greatest height
slip cover out of her insecurities
we all sat down
the backs of our minds (top)heavy
the floorplan never big enough
i need enough room for the whip on back too
enough space for the cream
jerking off in my pocket
under the table (burnt on taxes) dream
we chase after
each other like chained dogs chasing crumbs
the next dinner table on the food chain
under hypnosis on me
get your rocking chair off
go get em get it rocking yourself to sleep
skipping like a stone over a stream
for the record i was a river
or the ocean it was leading to
number2-pencil-lead heart
always breaking at its point
she strays from her own ideas like light from a bulb
never returns
we grow old like light on a wall
like night is gray hair on day
as the day pops
and shatters out of us
how many times must i hit the “here” button
how many times can i multiply the past
me divided by myself by myself in a room with too much light
they thought i’d say the opposite (with too little light)
no police on my blocked up sidetracked mind
no new thoughts over this too easy (circular) street
she pulls day out of her like it was scotch tape
each moment to the next
right angles at every smile
bowing to the amount of target we have
closed curtains as eyes
i said i wouldn’t talk about my eyes
she said they were old
and growing the parts of her she couldn’t move
i said just blink
she said breathing in would make her drown
i try to have sympathy
but the water is all i am
so we drown together (as one)
but separate
believing in different boats
or the same one but by different name(or pronunciation)
or out of context in time
like armadas for Indians
even though the name came after the realization
we pretended we didn’t know ours
so as to we could learn to breath
trying to forget we’re under water
flash flood in my hard drive (by usb) (used to be)
bleached flag crashed up on its flagged down memory
we once hit the moon only digging for comfort food
his talent was a(n individually wrapped) snack
something he indulged in after work and between naps
she sleeps in the vending machine she bought her lunch from
a (break) broken off piece of herself that’s easy to chew
i brought mine (brown bagged) but still never ate it
worked through the breaking bones and bell like time
we carved dinner from the wild satellite we saw ourselves as
hawks circling smaller circles selling our highlighters for crayons
cold hard cash written all over the walls
an eagle in the ant web every lost hair in the net
inter-changing value for debt
she sat on her dreams
(inspecting her eggs)
the mirror that made her question herself most
the belief that we all were who we thought we were
i said as long as we’re doing it
they stayed cross hearted and limp legged
nothing jumped at (or like) the oil we had
to keep drilling for
nothing pumped faster than the hearts we swore by
and she was killed (b-flat)
roadkill on the freeway
if her car was a metaphor it would be the skin she covered with make-up to meet the day
wore her clothes like tax like something extra she had to say
over top of herself
we hung ourselves by the belt that held our pants up
that kept us deep breathing
i belted out cake crumbs and backwash
a bunch of frozen together tv dinners all playing at once
now they’re re-runs
furniture covered in plastic
they’re own grandmothers smothered in nap pillows
trade in your tongue for a walker
your begging-sign for a slave wage
your tap-dance for black paint (like stars through space)
nursing home heart
she looks to the person next to her to be unplugged
and recorded
we all woke up sound asleep
only some of us kept dreaming
i played my next move by each facial expression she made
turning over and over in her sleep
employee to the american dream
bald easel and uninspired speak clean and whistling through our fingers like loose teeth and time
whistle while you’re not working whistling each waged moment
sand in your whistle
rush hour train in your gut
but you’re never getting off
keep tugging on the (never) stop cord
whatever let’s you off at now
how’s the lemonade and chasers
the mold and window pain
she stayed
sitting in the glass
waiting for herself to break
kept counting on others
to sing in her place
duck the high note
grab the overcast sky (and all the goose feather in it you can)
ski pass yourself all the way to the bottom
whichever line feeds you first
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
whichever thought stops short
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry
whichever motivation leaves you unhungry


(i hope you’re hopeful chewing it down)
(i hope you’re happy eating yourself out)

(a hundred overdone dinners on me)


(and because of that
on you)


(like your old house and all which/what it represented
in the spirit of us)



p.s. you is me

(and)other possible titles:

“lower middle beauty”
“a gallon of milk on beauty stamps”
“low rent beauty”
“disgusting beautiful”
“groceries on beauty stamps”
“funhouse mirrors”
“collecting unemployment and beauty stamps”
“ghost towns”
“ghost projects”
“stuck up ugly”
“mouth wash”
“pretty nothing”
“kicking god while he’s down”
“racing a dead horse”
“parking tickets”
“shooting the mirror” “holding up a mirror”
“don’t feed the birds”
“love letter”

3 comments:

The New Police said...

kicking god while he's down

jennifer said...

don't be scared because it's long... you should definitely read it.

deadphlegm said...

dedicated to the new police