Saturday, February 28, 2009

Recyclable Language

I've written enough selfish love poems
on foolscap Chinese lantern craft paper
to tip the balance
in the battle against Green Peace
and since I'd rather be on their side
I'm giving that up
so this is not a love poem
this is a petition
that was written on
recycled cardboard
with broken corners
from too many hands' use
because we've all had this idea
but perhaps gotten a bit confused
by the muse we met shopping for beige capris
at Wall-mart

the idea that "Love Is A Battlefield"
and that we need to hide
from the bruises of our Lovers
wear "Boy's Night Out" like body armour
and play poker to play off
our responsibilities to expectation
expecting that saying
"I love you"
means I'll mold myself to you and
you to me
until two becomes three
and we bear the bastard child of
forced fidelity between us
bear it like infidelity
bear it like, damn!
Why'd I ever say, "I love you"?

was it your super-rad purple Converses shoes?
your emo-core tattoos?
the loose strand of hair that
hung there?

did you ensnare me again
in the complex web of romantic dynamics?
the ones we were taught
and bought into without critical though
the ones with the ideas of romantic
unachievable and ever sought
the ones brought over by Turkish poets
and injected into the infected
remains of arcane European
God fearing
Woman hating culture?!
Are you again
the Holy Virgin Mary
begotten by the Magdalene
begotten by the Mandala
begotten by Gaiya
forgotten but for the clay idols
cast in blind female form
little nipples made with torn and dirty finger nails

do you think we needed a feminist movement then?

when the bends and curves of beauty were built on functionality
when a woman not
pinioned up on high-heels
like a cornerstore popsicle
available everywhere
predictable, pre-wrapped and
was yet considered hot!
when expectations of the self-titled "relationship"
had yet to be defined
and the institution
of wedlocking paperwork
had yet to pollute
the formless idea of love
and this boy/girl bullshit
didn't enter into it
no blue job
pink job
no home job
office job
better job
bitter job
not even the language to express the difference
between want
and need
and so true love was born
as we beat the meaning into our chests
hunger = want
desire = want
need = want
and the selfish became beautiful
no room for the convoluted
everything said was true

want you
want you
I want you


Angie Pants said...

I love this piece so very much.

samantha said...

so very very much.

It reminds me of the poetry from the livejournal era.

I still hate myself for deleting mine.

Anonymous said...; You saved my day again.

kaare.iverson said...

Dear Mr/Ms/Mrs/Dr. Anon...who are you?