Overcast

I had this feeling that I was
worth loving, and you let me

have it: a month of solid
silence and invisibility, and you've

forgotten me now, I'm sure:
haven't even taken the movies back.
I feel I might've excited you. True,
you said, "You're mischievous,
undermining, it gets you hot
to be bad," with the heroin
of your eyes pushing through me,

"I need all your attention."
Client status: Connected.
In cramped shoes I'm
transparent on milk
ice: sliding over islands, mortar,
crystals lateral with morphine
lapsed into strings,
stillness; my lace.
Cerebral, but rebellious.

The secret to rolling a great joint
is to roll it tight enough to smoke well
but loose enough to let any left-
over stems elude piercing the paper.

I feel it might be exciting
to feel loved. Someone rubs me

until I blossum. Until it

rains on my tongue. This is free.
There are only so many

kinds of sense. One in which
you're thick, surrendered
to golds and reds, wear glasses
and have supper with your
mother. Meanwhile, outside
our encampment, fat
velvet fires rescue air from
almost total transparency.
I suck up files from a remote
location for work. Wake up
with my eyes already sunk,

jerk off: get high. Client status:
Connected. A tartly-intelligent
girl with her hand on my belly.
She says she likes it too much.
She has all my attention.
Character sets legitimize
where the pre-dawn wind
plies from you in heavy draughts
your childhood, your child, rubber
nipples: reading under a passive
milk of electric, not walls.
They hug cattle before they
shoot them in the brain.

I sleep past waking.

Everyone will be infinitely home soon.

I was dreaming in blush sundaes,
before, though: we are the wasps
that would rather sting themselves
to death, if that means we escape
a natural terminal port: we're
those literal motherfuckers
who will not hover, but sparkler
and cackle like it's all that's
holding us down. I hate the royal
we. Dreaming about licking
the heart of red, the pith of gold,
cleaning you of stalwart
impurities. Ever feel

like you're just marking a beat
in a line. Smoke orally
inflates the room. Filtration
flirts with purity the way eightball
chicks glom to money;

it makes them feel loved. Even
common houseplants know
where the sun is, swoon and go
limp when she's gone. I'm still

waiting for that Saturday you promised me
not thinking about me at all not thinking about
you at all not thinking about you at all.


=====


***************************************************************************

Lewis LaCook –>poet-programmerhttp://www.lewislacook.com/

http://www.corporatepa.com/

XanaxPop:Mobile Poem Blog-> http://www.lewislacook.com/xanaxpop/

Collective Writing Projects–> The Wiki–> http://www.lewislacook.com/wiki/ Appendix M ->http://www.lewislacook.com/AppendixM/







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Comments

, Michael Szpakowski

This is *such* great work Lewis.
There's the delirious and gorgeous imagery that has
always been such an attractive component of your work,
but here also (and did I not notice it so much before
or has it been slowly crystallizing?) a rigorous,
almost steely control of the materials.
The sense of storytelling, the incorporation of
dialogue, the confidence to mix the heady stuff with
the almost prosaic…
a complete pleasure to read.
michael
— Lewis LaCook <[email protected]> wrote:

>
>
> I had this feeling that I was
> worth loving, and you let me
>
> have it: a month of solid
> silence and invisibility, and you've
>
> forgotten me now, I'm sure:
> haven't even taken the movies back.
> I feel I might've excited you. True,
> you said, "You're mischievous,
> undermining, it gets you hot
> to be bad," with the heroin
> of your eyes pushing through me,
>
> "I need all your attention."
> Client status: Connected.
> In cramped shoes I'm
> transparent on milk
> ice: sliding over islands, mortar,
> crystals lateral with morphine
> lapsed into strings,
> stillness; my lace.
> Cerebral, but rebellious.
>
> The secret to rolling a great joint
> is to roll it tight enough to smoke well
> but loose enough to let any left-
> over stems elude piercing the paper.
>
> I feel it might be exciting
> to feel loved. Someone rubs me
>
> until I blossum. Until it
>
> rains on my tongue. This is free.
> There are only so many
>
> kinds of sense. One in which
> you're thick, surrendered
> to golds and reds, wear glasses
> and have supper with your
> mother. Meanwhile, outside
> our encampment, fat
> velvet fires rescue air from
> almost total transparency.
> I suck up files from a remote
> location for work. Wake up
> with my eyes already sunk,
>
> jerk off: get high. Client status:
> Connected. A tartly-intelligent
> girl with her hand on my belly.
> She says she likes it too much.
> She has all my attention.
> Character sets legitimize
> where the pre-dawn wind
> plies from you in heavy draughts
> your childhood, your child, rubber
> nipples: reading under a passive
> milk of electric, not walls.
> They hug cattle before they
> shoot them in the brain.
>
> I sleep past waking.
>
> Everyone will be infinitely home soon.
>
> I was dreaming in blush sundaes,
> before, though: we are the wasps
> that would rather sting themselves
> to death, if that means we escape
> a natural terminal port: we're
> those literal motherfuckers
> who will not hover, but sparkler
> and cackle like it's all that's
> holding us down. I hate the royal
> we. Dreaming about licking
> the heart of red, the pith of gold,
> cleaning you of stalwart
> impurities. Ever feel
>
> like you're just marking a beat
> in a line. Smoke orally
> inflates the room. Filtration
> flirts with purity the way eightball
> chicks glom to money;
>
> it makes them feel loved. Even
> common houseplants know
> where the sun is, swoon and go
> limp when she's gone. I'm still
>
> waiting for that Saturday you promised me
> not thinking about me at all not thinking about
> you at all not thinking about you at all.
>
>
> =====
>
>
>
***************************************************************************
>
> Lewis LaCook
> –>poet-programmerhttp://www.lewislacook.com/
>
> http://www.corporatepa.com/
>
> XanaxPop:Mobile Poem Blog->
> http://www.lewislacook.com/xanaxpop/
>
> Collective Writing Projects–> The Wiki–>
> http://www.lewislacook.com/wiki/ Appendix M
> ->http://www.lewislacook.com/AppendixM/
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> __________________________________
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