Poem Hunter
Poems
I
(10 January 1887 – 20 January 1962 / Allegheny, Pennsylvania)

I

Oh, my neck
and my shoulders
and my legs,
the corners of my mouth,
the tips of my fingers
explode in a nervous, spectacular flare.
Overstimulated, underprepared.

Leafing through phrases in my mind
for one nice to hide behind,
cautiously treading that line,
'til I shook slight
and tore through the sky.
(and I fell, so pretty, I.)

Oh, I.
I took a series of
short, jagged breaths through my teeth.
Oh, I
lost all compulsion to speak.

Tearing through my past
with notebook in tow
as it gradually dissolves
and the present Me suffers the blow.

'Maybe I'm thinking too hard about this, '
I think to myself
too hard.

Oh, you.
You are imperfect.
I've sliced several fingers
along your jagged edges,
and you
on
mine...

Hold me there, hold me there, hold me there.
Take your time, take your time.
Cut my hair, cut my hair, cut my hair,
cut my lines.
Hold me there, hold me there, hold me there.
Cross my eyes, cross my eyes.
Strip me bare, strip me bare, strip me bare,
tell me lies.

Hold me there.
Hold me there.
Hold me there.
Take your time.

Cut my hair.
Cut my hair.
Cut my hair.
Feed me lines.

Hold me there,
hold me there,
hold me there.
Cure my eyes. Cure my eyes!
Make me swear
I'll do right,
dropp each vice,
fix my life.

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