Black Convocation/Ramen Shop.

     Black Convocation

Poem.

clarity about this very real figment

of my imagination is

not possible,                      (pigment)

actually, I don’t want to think

I don’t want to think about this

these problems never go away

I’m not black my name’s OJ

        okay

I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe 

        okay

Poem.

Not everything coheres.

          Remember: not everything

                         coheres

Poem. 

Regret is such a useless thing

I’d so prefer it, if

you did not, look!,

                    at me

                    that very

                        , if

regret is such a useless thing

why preface it with the word

              (poem)

why preface it with eyes.

I will never forget the word

-even if it messes my head. 

          

Poem.

I mean, yes, of course, yes

I’m so, so hungry

but I will not eat you, no, not

no, of course, not like that.

      I otherwise like you,

                I promise. 

Poem. 

A few more words about: coherence, 

it doesn’t exist for me, I’m so hungry

for everyone else and their platitudes.

It must be nice to avoid existential breathlessness.

I like that word: breathlessness.

I resent that platitude: existential.

I am not bitter, I promise.

It’s just that the air…

it tastes so…

                      …(blue.)

Poem.

I don’t believe in you but

                             your face.

***

     Ramen Shop

Poem.

Tomatoes are nice 

fruits or vegetables, I like them.

I eat now. It is nice.

Cheese has a fullness.

Meat a warm blankness.

And my tongue- 

The business of living makes me be.

And it is often simple,

         I would cry.

         Could, but can't,

         I could.

Poem.

Okay, so, that didn't bother me that much

anyway, people are nightmares,

but that's okay, okay?

that wasn't even the problem.

I think it was the gleam,

ass-light.

People think that there's a sun,

a whole ball of it,

up their asses.

So, yeah, it's hard to say:

maybe you should stuff it

maybe you kinda suck.

There was another light.

It wasn't so bad. 

I sort of liked it.

It was nice.

It didn't wake me too harshly.

How can I explain:

     stained glass, church

     small solution, math book

     small ocean, vagina

     curved shaft, penis 

that sort of thing. I guess.

the perfect sunny of not giving a fuck.

     

Poem.

People are enthusiastically boring

I wish I could get more sleep

Sex isn't interesting: neither are my hands

It doesn't matter when you cum

I believe in the Bible once

Physics doesn't make much sense to me

I'm saying that I tried

I don't like the sort of questions you ask me

Ask better questions

Maybe one day people might fit together

until then, please, ask better questions

Poem.

I'm like, one person

How is there never enough space for me

You talk and your mouth is...

listen, I'm like one person

The air sort of passes by

from time to time

        sort of how

your mouths do. 

Whose mouth was first on whom?

I thought it would feel better.

You asked more than once,

if it feels good. Stop

asking questions that aren't 

                 good. Stop,

no, not like that. Yes,

       maybe like that.