You kissed me. Bad aim.
Kissed me quite insane.
I won’t be the same.
I know how your fame
Tastes now, and your pain:
You kissed me. Bad aim.
She told me you came
Down like monsoon rain:
“I won’t be the same,”
Play your stupid game,
Crooked little vein.
You kissed me. Bad aim.
So now you’ll be tame?
So now you’ll refrain?
“I won’t be the same”?
So whose goddamn name
Shall I take in vain?
You kissed me. Bad aim.
I won’t be the same.
It’s fair to say I know a thing or two
about the art of leaving something good.
However, I would like to stay with you.
I may not be deserving, sweet, or true
but with me you’d be unmisunderstood.
It’s fair to say I know a thing or two
about the bitten hand. And I may woo —
I too have stooped to doing what I could,
however I would like, to stay with you.
It won’t redeem my soul, that benthic blue
ifreet, for never knowing what it should.
It’s fair to say. I know a thing or two
about the wish economy though, too;
I’ll spend the night that I saved up. I would,
however, I would. Like, to stay with you
is sweeter than a world-engirdled view.
So of this hollowness, pariahhood,
it’s fair to say I know a thing or two.
However, I would like to stay with you.
~
Another exercise in making the same words mean different things. With the help of Richard Kirby on the refrain.
The day you disappeared, I fed the birds:
I feared the pigeons would get bored and go.
My fears were realised, in other words.
So I cut up the calendar in thirds.
It’s bright, you’re here. It’s rain, you’re not. It’s snow,
the day you disappeared. I fed the birds
a mixture of unspokens and unheards.
Our cockatiels still bear your accent, though:
my fears were realised in other words.
I deal in unexpecteds and absurds
but never thought you’d break a promise. So
the day you disappeared I fed the birds.
An empty pasture save the ducks, those herds
I shepherd with my trail of crumbs. But no –
my fears were realised in other words.
I hid the end in shakens and in stirreds.
It’s always been like that; the things we know
(the day you disappeared I fed the birds
my fears) were realised in other words.
~
A collaboration with Richard Kirby (@_L_M_C_). I wrote the first line and he wrote the third line, and then we each wrote a villanelle with that as the skeleton. You can read his poem here: /status/738698600990027776
Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost 