Thursday, February 16, 2012

like fucking prayer

when i was 4 years old my uncle gave me an old phone
i used to keep it next to my bed
late at night, i'd unhook the heavy, black receiver from its cradle
& pretend i was calling someone from beneath my blankets
i'd urgently speak into the dead mouthpiece
pleading to be rescued from beneath the terrible roof
where the rage in the other rooms always grew
to unprecedented heights
but all i ever got was a cold, blankness in my ear
all too much like fucking prayer
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.