SONNET

Smile at Death

Back ache, neck stiff! OSTEOPEROSIS!
Do you remember SINILITY?
Cells multiply! Cancerous MITOSIS!
This is every human reality.
As father looks over we all will die,
Leaving the mourning friend and happy foe.
But my sweet child you should dry your eye.
Cuz without death we can’t learn, love and grow.
If a man lives forever, I am sure
He’d be evil, or sad, or he’ be lost.
For immortality there is no cure.
A soul must live with an unhappy cost.
Oh, please be glad that you’re so very sick,
But if you’re feeling still sad, I’ll suck your dick.

SUMMARY

So I failed at NPM.
I got really depressed after day 14 and couldn't write for the life of me.

NOW THOUGH, I am writing like crazy so expect to see new stuff soon.

NPM Day14: The Me I Want to Be?

Damn boy you looking fine tonight!
I wanna tap your ass, be agressive, and slap you silly.
So let me objectify your blue eyes.
Cuz I try hard to impress, cuz your the best of the best.
So Let me be an ass about this all and suck your dick.
Straddle you, cuz I am all super forward and sexy like that.
I am gonna be all over you saying things like:
"Come up in my guts,"
or
"Zuber Zexy,"
or
"Me so horny."
Cuz I am just a forward slutty mcslut slut.
------Y/N-------
Questions, comments?

NPM Day 13: Objectivity?

Work surrounds Annie.
She calls another poet.
Failure awaits her.
Lets hope that frivolities
save her from the life which she
leads herself into each day.

NPM Day 12: Skip

Skip to my lou my darling.
Again and again the songs sing my head.

Jumping running playing pressing with the work ahead.
I want to laugh and be merry, but where for art thou respoinsibility?

Just being there doesn't mean one is actually in a place.
You must eat the pizza and soy chips and breathe.

With hopes of songs, dances, and fresh air.
I bid you adieu.

NPM Day 11: Anxiety

Attack me
all you emotions.
Assault me in my
abdomin.
Again I will die
alone.
A. Lesser Poet.

NPM Day 10: Daniel, Hayden, Ellie, Jacob, and the Dogs

Today is warm.
Like me when I am in your arms.

Stupid romatic shit,
getting my mind to act all stupid and such.

I want to hold your hand one more time.
Let me read my book in peace.

Organic foods are the best!

NPM Day 9: Lazy Poem

Clerihews are simple,
yet cute like a dimple.
I am in a rush;
my VaJJ's bout to gush!

NPM Day 8: Keeps The Doctor Away

I just ate an apple
It was terrible
There was no flavor
flavorless
The texture: grainy
It didn’t crunch it just
dissipated within my mouth
crumbling piece by piece
dry
The juices weren’t vibrant
just sweet,
And the skin didn’t rip
against my teeth
it merely bent.

Hollow, the apple felt
hollow
A state in which hallowed apples
should not exist
(this obviously not a hallowed apple)

I take a moment though and ponder
How I treated this apple
How I kept it in the pocket of my jacket
For 3 hrs
waiting to consume
I failed? It failed?
flavorless, dry, hollow

NPM Day 7: Super Sexy Song Yah for the Liberation of Livers

Lets all sing a song
A sexy sexy song
And seduce the world
With our sexiness

Labido Labido
Dingaling ling

Super Duper
Sexy Sonix Sex Sex

Orgy time Yippee Yippee
Sexy Sexy Yip Yip

Yip Yip
Like a doggy style
Yip Yip

For we have hard dicks
And wet cunts for you

Lets sing openly
And hope you come to
Join us on our quest
Of Sex
Of Life
Of Vice
Of everything!
TONIGHT bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bummmmmmmmmmmmm

NPM DAY 6: If an Anne, a Catherine, or Jane could TXT Henry

Part I: Instincts!
It lays there haunting
me. I don’t want to dial
him. My heavy heart.

Part II: Fantasy.
like omg! i
am so fucking in love with
this hot ass tudor

Part III: Truth?
Reality brings
me back, tugging at my heart.
Infatuation

NPM Day 5: Found Art: An In Depth Look of Moments in the Museum of the International Center for Photography or How We Can Steal With Our Minds

Port rate of a boy

“I can no longer understand the words of Hebrew without translation, except the word yeladim, which means children”

A free can youth
Port rate of sin eek

“I hear the words ‘lingering in the cognate’ spoken”

A knee grow prince
Nude see Ted honest yule
Man on ab hench
Janitor pane test ape ick sure

“I have the Jewish couple approach my personal space as they comment on how the artist was featured in the news. How the photographs were staged.”

Bow them burrs of this club
Hay angering freedom

“I only see one sports section on September 12, 2001”

Stud tea of a black man

“I walk into a room with the projector’s light shining on my face. The dark enveloping me and I am alone. I realize that no one will have the exact same moment that I did while walking in, as the train sounds in the background. I am creating my sorrow as I let my eyes take in the light from the reels of film. Spiraling, spiraling. A couple walks in and they disturb it; they didn’t feel what I felt”

NPM 4: In Reaction to Nat Iosbaker's Day 3 List

Dearest Nat
My Natty Nat
You Have Sat
On my little heart

You didn’t put me
On your list
Now I’m pissed
And emo dark

I thought your laugh
Was an epitath
To wanting me
On said list

But I guess it’s not
And I guess I got
On the down side
Down low
I’m too fucking
Stupid and slow

So just
Screw
ME
and

Yours truly,
list

NPM DAY3: Apathy and Agony

One minute
60 seconds
can I get a woot woot?


Poetry will be the death of me….

this is NOT my 3rd NPM poem, i just finally finished this one tonight after a while of working on it

I am the Ass pointing at the Elephant, or naked emperor as you so choose, in the room via Satire

So you think your puny punny mind can really comprehend this poem?
Because I should warn you…
This is a poem that you will not understand
Comprehend
Or believe
Because I am going to make it incomprehensible, inconceivable, unrealistic
To your puny punny mind

Again with the word puny
JUST SHUT UP
BECAUSE I AM THE ASS YOU AND YOU AINT THE ELEPHANT
It is above you.
Not the elephant, but the poem*,
which may be the elephant they are not mutually exclusive…

It is more than you will ever get.
I mean it is so much more
it is like you are a puppy grasping at imaginary kibbles and bits
painted into the reflection of Dick Chaney’s bald spot.

So don’t act like you know I am talking about crack
when I say it’s Iraq
because I have been raped
…raped?
...ray ay ay ay aped
Like a sun’s monkey.

So please understand,
parentheses, parentheses, parentheses
For your own good
that I am smarter than you
and can do it longer than you
and harder than you
because I own more moleskins than you
and I have been in more knife fights than you
and I have actually committed suicide.
I was just revived to tell you how stupid a
(asterisk, asterisk, asterisk
and an elephant is probably above you because elephants are really tall)
you are compared to me.

So just accept that this isn’t me being pretentious
This is you clawing for verbiage that will be able to bow in my vocabulary’s presence
Can I get an Amen?

I said can I get an Amen…

You, you, and you obviously don’t get this poem
Heave, so I can just go back to being dead

NPM DAY2: No Matter How Much Wine and Gormet Chocolates There Are in the World

rushing though art makes me sad
to be more precise rushing while looking at art
makes me sad

Why can't I enjoy the moments with the canvases,
the encostics,
the ink,
the plastic,
the oil,
and the added objects?

because the museum is closing
and because the 5 train didn't come right away
and because i went to the wrong station first
and because i wanted to delete photographs

{and while we are on teh subject of because}

Just because the D word is in my head,
it doesn't
denote
that the deed
will be done.

{now back to the subject at hand}

so the rootbeer float is consumed
on the train ride home
and the wine drunk
in the privacy
of the room
where i
wait
for
it*

*the shit

to hit
THE FAN (literally, sniff that fecal matter)

NPM DAY1: State News

i am
looking at a
pokemon addicted
jewish boy clammoring for his
fix as the cashier roles her eyes backward

The Notebook, or How My Mind Shut Down While Traveling Between 177th and 145th Street

On Washington Ave I could hear birds chirping sweetly because the loud sirens and street cleaners were absent. The hills and winding of the road in Inwood kept shifting the vanishing points of all the buildings that surrounded me. Snow flakes, like confetti fluttering down long after a party has come to a close, fell upon mothers and fathers walking their children to school. 280 Washington Ave marked a building further from the sidewalk than all the surrounding structures causing it to coyly cower in shadows. A baby’s feet peep out from under a blanket as the mother loosely holds her child close to her chest. A bike rack with only red bikes stands outside the Columbia University Medical center where a giant banner, hanging across three overhead walkways, reads “Amazing Things Happen Here.” The building looks more like a hotel than a hospital: valet parking in front of revolving doors, huge glass windows showing off a café on the second floor, a small grassy entrance off to the side of the building. A run down YAGER PLASTIC SURGERY lies only a block away.

When I let Washington take me to Broadway I am assaulted by sound, no more birds chirping, just the city as I notice a man wearing a Raccoon hat. As I make my way into Harlem, Boricua College looks like a small oasis from run down deli’s, convenience stores, and dollar shops with its imitation of Louis XIV French and Ancient Roman architecture. I see my third black and white cop car right before seeing a man whose face looks like it is a sewn together patchwork of Caucasian and African skin tones it makes me think of both Leather-face and a multi colored dog.

Rebecca Solnit says in her essay Las Vegas, The Longest Distance Between Two Points that the thing that wandering and gambling have in common is anticipation. My walk though was without anticipation, my mind blank simply making observations and listing them in my notebook. When I got on the 145th street train at the end of my journey I stared at my notebook and felt like crying when I realized I had not had a single original thought my entire walk; I had for the first time in my recollection not sung or spoken to myself in order to better comprehend my thoughts and feelings, and that I had not once smiled or made a silly face at a passing child. In order to experience the anticipation of wandering one must let his mind diverge and wander, which I obviously had not let myself do.

I had a chain for my mind forged by my mind. This metaphorical chain is manifest in my notebook. I seem to be unable to write, walk, and think clearly at the same time. My mind seems to want to think straightforward and make simple observations without any depth when I am writing in a notebook while walking. Usually my mind is like a Plinko board able to spread out and see all the possibilities that could come from the drop of a single idea, but with a notebook in hand my imagination becomes dull, as dull as the colors of the world were this morning when I got off at 177th street and Washington Ave. from the A train.

When in class I cannot concentrate on what a teacher is saying unless I am doodling in between notes or fidgeting. I find it hard to even pay attention in a conversation if my hand is not doing something simple. Multi-tasking focuses me. Writing and walking in a straight line are two very straightforward tasks forcing my mind to zero in on them both in order to achieve the most out of each of them.

Within the first 10 blocks of my walk I discovered the Track and Field National Hall of fame I wandered in and put my notebook in my back pack. All of a sudden ideas were floating into my head: remembering conversations with friends that ran track, colorful images of Nike commercials, watching the Olympics, some things, any things. “Can I just wander around?” I asked the woman at the front desk.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed today.” As I tried to exit trying the two entrance doors by accident first before finally the exit gave way I thought about a potential future adventure returning, but as I left my thoughts went dead again as I clicked my pen and jotted down, “Track Hall of Fame” in my note book.

My Bloody Valentines

Valentines Day Poems 2008
----------------
I. Valentine
I’m sorry
I had to write a poem about this
It
Is just that
It
Is valentines day and as
I was looking at my Vagina earlier
I just couldn’t help but wonder
If
It would look different
If
I weren’t a virgin

I remember the first time
I saw you on the my computer screen and
I felt as
If
I should try touching myself as
I usually try once a week

I am terrible at picking my own orchid

I wanted you to fuck me
I wanted to be abused and used by you
In a very perverse way
It’s just how
I saw your then pretty face

In time
I met you and
I no longer wanted to be fucked, because
I realized you were a drunken
Imbecile, and
I felt that, with an
Immense amount of love and affection towards you,
I wanted to be a little
Intellectually stimulating friend to you, but then you let
It slip that
I could kiss you
If
I so chose so then a fantasy crept
Into my brain

I wanted you to teach me how to suck a dick
I wanted you to give me a lesson
In head
I wanted you to let me touch your penis, yes,
I said Penis

I then was rejected by you, the same week a boy tried to have unapproved
Intercourse with me, and then finally time passed, and

I no longer thought about you, unless your face or some other reminder of you came up
In passing, and then,
I would embarrassingly,
Imagine, raping you…..

I push your head down
Into my vulva
I force you to eat
It all as tears escape your eyes
I bite the back of your neck and you
Inadvertently sigh and
I kick you out once
I’ve come twice and you’ve licked my lower back once

I know this
Is stupid but
I saw a picture of you today and all
I thought was that
I wanted tell you
I finally bought a copy of comfort eagle

II. Valentine
I wish it were Thanksgiving. Because that is the day I am thankful for.
For that is the day I found your tongue on my neck and your knee on my jeans on my clit.
The small of my back tingles every time I think of you.
The fuck that got away.

III. Valentine
I love my mom, not in that way you fuckers.
Don’t hoot and holler because we hold hands and kiss cheeks.
We just understand each other a lot better than any of you.
I wish we could just hug forever, like two trees grown together.
As I write this poem I miss her, a splash on my cheek tells me so.

IV. Valentine
Hook me up my bitches, my homies!
HOOK ME UP!
I wanna get laid….can I say THE END now?????

BOYS (the avoidance of date rape the discovery of jerks)

I want to have a boyfriend, though I would settle for a one night stand, because I am a lonely little depressive virgin who bottles her lust within an air tight container of guilt inside her stomach. All my friends explain that boys are assholes. I explain that I just wish I could experience one of these assholes first hand.

“We’re getting you drunk tonight,” Marisa laughed as guests for her party funneled in through her door. She and I have been friends for three years now; I trust her to take care of me this evening, for tonight we find my alcohol threshold.

One margarita before Emile, the Dutch exchange student, shows up. “Tequilla, BOOM BOOM!” One boom. Two boom. “Watch her, she knows how to take a shot!” Emile exclaims. Three boom.

“Come on Annie! Please be my partner for beer pong!” Marisa pouts. One, two, three, four beers. “Tequilla, BOOM BOOM!” Emile asks me, the 5’3” 120lb girl who can down shots like Karen Allen in Raiders of the Lost Ark, to show how it is done. I do.
Four boom. The fifth boom ignites a short fuse. After the dust settles in my mind, my body begins to feel the aftershocks of the explosion. I rush upstairs and slam the door to the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing my face with the hopes of diluting my numbness.

My muscles feel limp, but my insides are bruised.
Seth enters the room, he played me in beer pong earlier. He kisses my cheek. I have only been kissed once before so I let him guide my mouth to his. Voices of excitement trickle into my head whispering, “Someone finally thinks you’re beautiful, someone finally thinks you’re pretty.” I let his tongue and mine rub gently, then ferociously, then again in a docile manner. I am filled with the electricity of the kiss.

He tries to pull off my dress I stop him. “Come on,” I shake my head no. We continue to kiss; he gets a hold of my zipper, my hand isn’t able to move quickly enough to stop him and he is able to get down the top of my dress.

I am looking at the mirror. Seth, naked, holding my equally nude body, repeats the mantra, “But you’re so sexy, come on, you’re so sexy.” I repeat my mantra of “No,” feeling helpless and powerful at the same time. The door suddenly opens. “Oops!” Seth is startled. I slip away and begin to put back on my clothes. He keeps protesting, and I protest his protests. He tries to pull off my dress again, it rips along the zipper. I leave.

I roll my eyes at Marisa, agreeing to drive five boys who are still drunk home. I find my car parked backward, the driver’s seat adjusted for someone half a foot taller than me, the floor covered with litter, and sixty dollars missing from my wallet. Seth grumbles how he lost his phone as I open my car door for him and his friends. As the car speeds down the expressway the windows open and the boys begin throwing 50 dollars worth of tennis balls out the window, Seth hears his phone ringing underneath the driver’s seat, and someone pours a bottle of water on my head. Boys are assholes.