man i do not even know

Yo but for real I have had no idea what to do with this thing for years now maybe and I still have no idea but right now I think I am gonna post all these drafts of this poem I am trying to make into a not shitty thing, and also I will update the links to poem that have been published so that I can remember when and where my things go and have gone.

ok so, this thing

um ok

At my door there was a knock and I opened it

and my neighbor said There is someone at the front door for you

so I walked down the three flights of stairs to the front door

and I opened that too. In front of me was a policeman.

He said Hello. He said May I come in it is cold out.

I am pretty sure he was telling the truth

because there was a foot of snow standing on top of him.

I said Ok. I said What is this about officer.

He said I’ll ask the questions here and I told him

that if he was going to persist in that attitude he could march himself

back out into the cold and stay there until he froze to death.

He said he was sorry. It seemed like he meant it. He said

Excuse me. He said Earlier today

I was in the bathroom. It does not matter which one

he said. He said that as soon as he finished up his business

several ghosts burst into the room. Ghosts! I said.

Ghosts he said. He said I said to them Disperse ghosts!

This bathroom is no place for you! I said What happened next?

He said that it turned out they were not ghosts at all

but men with sheets over their heads

clutching automatic weapons in their sad little hands,

weapons that glistened with a need to tear open some chests

and let a little light into our hearts. He said

I said What do you want? And they all just started weeping.

I said Weeping? The policeman said Weeping. I said to him

that I too have at times felt so overwhelmed by the world

that I wanted to cover my head in a sheet and just weep

and weep and weep until the whole world drowned

and people lived on boats and invented new ways of fishing

that used grenades or some other form of kindness,

but I have never in my life tried to shoot someone in the chest over it.

The policeman confided to me that the world was full

of things we could not conceive of. He said that mystery lurked

around every corner, and that the only successful way to live

was to embrace that mystery. Then he shot himself in the face

and died. I sat there waiting for the ambulance

for what felt like days.

um ok

At my door there was a knock.

It was my neighbor. My neighbor said

that there was someone downstairs at the front door for me

and so I went downstairs and I opened the door

where I found a policeman standing there

with about a foot of snow piled on top of him.

He said Hello. He said May I come in it is cold out.

I am pretty sure he was telling the truth. What is this about

I said to him. He told me that he was on his way home

after a busy day of upholding the law

when he’d gotten reports of ghosts doing inappropriate things.

He said Sir, have you seen any ghosts today. I said Sort of.

I said Earlier today I was in the bathroom. I said It doesn’t matter

which one. As I was finishing up my business I said

I became surrounded by ghosts. How many ghosts he said

I said About a dozen or so and he wrote that down I think.

I said Anyway. I said I said to them Disperse ghosts!

This bathroom is no place for you! He said Then what happened

and I told him to quit interrupting. I said They just sort of stood there for a bit

and moaned. As I went to go dry my hands

they tore off their sheets to reveal that they were not ghosts at all

but grown men with assault rifles in their hands

and tears in their eyes. Did they say what they wanted he asked me

and I told him that they said they were searching for the purest expression

of ultimate sadness. He said With assault rifles? I said I know right?

So I said I asked them Why the assault rifles? And they told me

that they were planning on using these rifles

to open up our heads and let a little light

into our hearts. He said What happened next?

I said Next they started weeping. The policeman said Weeping?

Weeping I said. They started weeping and I left. I told him

that I found the whole situation quite confusing. I said

that I too have at times felt so overwhelmed by the world

that I wanted to cover my head in a sheet and just weep

and weep and weep until the whole world drowned

and people lived on boats and invented new ways of fishing

that used grenades or some other form of kindness,

but I have never in my life tried to shoot someone in the face over it.

And furthermore I added The face and the heart are not in the same location

They are not even close I said. The policeman agreed.

He told me that the world was full of all sorts of things

we could not possibly conceive of. He said that mystery lurked

around every corner, and that the only successful way to live

was to embrace that mystery. He said his investigations

had taught him that much at least. Then he shot himself in the face

and died. I sat there waiting for the ambulance

for what felt like days.

the night is long and difficult

The best we can hope for is to just stab at the dark

and hope that we cut ourselves a doorway

into some sort of feeling

that keeps us alive for a moment longer

is what the policeman told me. He was standing

at the door. He told me he was investigating ghosts.

There had been he said Reports of ghosts in the area

upsetting the general sensibilities

regarding life and death. The populace he told me

Was awful delicate. Had I he wanted to know

Seen any ghosts lately. I said Yes. He said Where.

I said Out the window, frequently moaning or singing,

bearing witness to the world like a studio audience

or a bunch of ghosts. I asked him if he had seen any ghosts.

Once he said he was in the bathroom.

It doesn’t matter which one he said .

As he came out of the bathroom stall he was surrounded

on all sides by what appeared to be ghosts. He said he called out

Disperse ghosts! This bathroom is no place for you! I said

What happened next. He said The world

is a vast and terrifying piece of excitement

given often to the production of a hollow pit

in the very center of your being. I told the policeman

that although I myself have frequently felt

that the world was covered in a vast and inescapable darkness

that was slowly suffocating me to death. I told him

that he did not answer my question. He grew quiet

like people grow bones. He told me

that the world was full of all sorts of things

that we could not possibly conceive of. He said that mystery lurked

around every corner, and that the only successful way to live

was to embrace that mystery. Then he shot himself in the face

and died. I sat there waiting for the ambulance

for what felt like days.

Who knows. This may end up being the only record of this poem. I do not even know. But so yeah. There is this now I guess.

AMELIA GRAY'S NEW NOVEL 'THREATS' IS GOING TO BE THE BEST SO YOU HAD BETTER THANK HER NOW

NO PERCH reading series: Amelia Gray on a moped from Angeline Gragasin on Vimeo.

things!

Four poems from EVERYTHING HERE IS OK just got published over at Hart House Review thanks to Prathna Lor. I'm going to post the earliest versions of the poems I can find here just to see if that might be neat.

[these two poems combined to be the earliest draft of everything was very calm]

i didn’t feel like making lunch because

there wasn’t any food in the fridge.

i walked down to broad street and then

i took that up to mcdonald’s

where i stood in line for a very long time

and in my head

a great speckled bird descended

from the clouds and swallowed everyone there whole

shrines were be built on the corner

and everyone stood around

like a fire drill.

*

i felt an overwhelming urge to sit down

but i didn’t. i felt decisive. i took a bite

of my burger, and it tasted exactly

the way i needed it to.

if i was a detective i could get to the bottom of things

if i was a gunslinger i could shoot you between the eyes

if i was more efficient this wouldn’t be a problem

i thought about all of this as i cleaned the kitchen floor the other day

and then i didn’t think about anything

except how i’d managed to clean the kitchen floor.

please leave the lights on

i stayed down on the ground and let them all have my neck

and in the morning something had changed.

categorically, there is something about ghosts

that i cannot understand.

imagine death as a skeleton on a skeleton horse.

now picture that skeleton riding the skeleton of an automobile,

or some type of dirt bike.

i thought about that last night

and then i dreamed about a man named walt, with a peg leg

and a pea coat

standing on a pier and watching as the delaware parted

in such a way that he could never cross it ever again.

he watched as a great big clipper ship

carried something very important to him

very far away. the look in his eyes

made me think of the way a lighthouse must look to a sailor

intent on synchronized shipwrecks.

send me the money you owe me

the tv was on. she watched a show about crows that took your bad dreams

and ate them from your fingers. these dreams were rooted

in fears and your childhood and the ground.

come back it’s starting she said over the phone and waited.

i could picture the way it would feel

with someone else on the couch.

she said hurry. i did. i saw several pigeons land

in the parking lot. their form was perfect.

it was like an instructional video.

all of our problems will be eaten by crows i said.

she said that was close but not quite it but that i almost had it.

i pulled out my six guns and fired one into a lake

and i killed a fish and i took it out and i held it

and it nibbled on my finger a little. sort of.

certain bodies of water

do you believe in ghosts she asked me.

i said you mean with sheets?

she said no. she said not with sheets.

she said she believes in ghosts.

in something involving physics

and a need to hold on. she said she believes

she would like a glass of water.

i tell her i would bring her the ocean to drink.

she said the ocean is salt water.

she said i just want a glass of regular water.

i thought about catfish

and the mississippi delta

where i have never been.

some other things

this sort of looks neat and i think i want to see it


it almost feels like if peter greenaway was not very much a dude. in that peter greenaway's movies, while real real pretty and also pretty fucking weird, feel very much like the product of a dude. which is whatever. i honestly have no idea what i am talking about here.

anyway so i've been re-reading josh bell's NO PLANETS STRIKE and it's still awesome. josh bell you should read this post and then finish and publish yr second book already please and thanks not to pressure you or anything.

also if you don't know this poem this poem by mark leidner has saved my life a lot of times.

Charismatic Ambulance Driver

It’s WWII.

I’m a charismatic ambulance driver.

You make me French toast

and when you set the plate down

you kiss my neck

and I just stare and stare at you.

We’re tilling a field in Poland

when the clouds break open

and we throw down the reins of our plows

and make love in the wind and the mud

while the mules, mute, look on.

You are about to take a spacewalk

and I stop you in the airlock

by shouting your name

and as you spin around to face me

your hair splays out in the absence of gravity.

Not without this, I say

handing you your helmet.

It’s Texas and you’ve tricked me

into attending a bake sale.

We’re out in the desert, resting

in the shade a small cliff is creating

and you gently pat my stomach

and ask me if I am gay.

We’re driving through Atlanta

and it is the end of the world

and you point out the window

and I follow the pale curl of your arm

and the line extending from your finger to the moon

and the moon is full

and on fire.

You’re panicking

because you can’t remember the meaning

of nonchalant, but I’m massaging

your neck, whispering,

It’s what you are.

You catch the flu but you refuse

to blow your nose because you’re scared

of looking sick. I finally get you to blow it

by offering you $5, and when you do

the most beautiful music comes out.

I call you sport

and you get a funny look in your eye

and say, Don’t call me that.

You split our bread into two parts,

the crust and the center,

and you give me the crust.

I finally say, I’m leaving you!

All you ever gave me were the wretched crusts!

and you look up at me,

tears brimming in your eyes, and say,

But the crust was always my favorite part.

We are trying to purchase a car

and you are heavy with child

and we are test-driving a small coupe

and I take a corner too fast, and your water breaks

and you tap me on the shoulder and say,

My water just broke. And I say, Is it okay

to drive this car to the hospital?

It’s not ours yet, you know.

We end up getting a different coupe.

You ruined that one.

i am going to go eat ice cream. i hear ryan madson has a beard. apparently roy oswalt's back was made out of jose contreras's elbow. and polanco's bat was made out of oswalt's back. oh well. it's weird how i keep complaining about shit when the phillies still have the best record in baseball. it seems real similar to that whole first world problems hashtag thing. in that like i should shut the fuck up because they are obviously doing really well, but i cannot seem to accept that. whatever. still have the overall losingest franchise in baseball. we win at winning AND losing. hooray! that should have said the phillies win at but i can't fix it because, again, keyboard's busted.

GOSH I AM SORRY I HAVE BEEN SO NEGLECTFUL

my chapbook 'i ain't asked any pardon for anything i done' is now available from greying ghost press.

you can read a bit about it here

and you can buy it here

and maybe one day i'll stop ignoring this thing because i don't know quite what to do with it now that i am unemployed and out of grad school?