you assume
you speak in diamonds
sunshine slobbering every syllable
your tiny light pissing my black
into lemonade yellow
but have you called god lately
his phone is answered only
by mr. death
his good secretary
the one who hates vacations
and lives for filling orders
requested by 14 year olds
who want mothers sorry
they ever opened thoughtless legs
to crap out their carcinogenic asses
see
how he loves his cancer hat
brim wide as mouths in timbuktu
who chew on air and shit out empty
and never doubt fatter bellies
are made of christmas candy
and jolly as their bones
bred from dirt and simple water
and can you really say
god is on a good-will mission
a red cross painted on his crotch
syphilis stitched into his nurses’ apron
and always the madness
the madness
of his laugh
when he says
bless you
and i’m sure jesus
giggled
when the suicides prayed
in their little white rooms
filled with red jello
and save me cartoons
the doctors ignoring their knocks of
i’m sane
i’m sane
spat out behind pills
that told them they were napoleon
or elizabeth taylor
their joan of arc arms
ready for the fire
when their morning juice
turned out to be just apple
flavored fake as the belief
the mad hatter would sign them out
and take them to tea
but i have tried to kneel
in her place
in her white walled mind
in her pocketbook stuffed
with lost pennies and half-puffed cigarettes
i have attempted to crush her words
and jam them in with the toast
until i can puke out their saliva oracles
and nail it on the wall
to prove she was more than a twilight zone episode
stuck on
repeat
but mr. death
that cold operator
said her number wasn’t working
even though she paid his bill
with her sour soup
and the stumble
of tripping feet
and now you talk of god’s goodness
of his moon eyes
blinking blindly at his deaf children
from some sky asylum
(yeah
the one on judas ave)
and i count the seconds
until you sleep
to stuff your postman body
with one message
lashed in toe tie fashion
with an attached photo of her face
and signed
sincerely,
Fuck You
Author notes
So I used the word 'yeah' and 'apple'...guess I'm just unoriginal and a whore for display names. Bite my fat ass.
Stoopid people piss me off.
A contest entry
- pick your brain by the atlantic.
1000 points, ended August 5, 2008, 6 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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i love you, i love you, i love you. and you know why. will comment this properly soon ...you are my sunshine!
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lol You know I think I have had that operator more than one time and I always get the same response 'wrong number'..it does get a litte laborious in the middle, perhaps less is more I don't know, far be it from me to tell someone else her baby is bogged down when it could be simplified. (cringes for a slap!) I am not sure how you simplify it though, and if you like the thought then its fine as is, I know your soul is inside it.
C
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Again, a few edits here and there could do wonders. This is still incredible work. You are certainly fresh throughout this write, I just think there are some general areas that could be improved. I'll leave it at that. You are one of those people who pour their souls out, now all you have to is decide how to save some of these ideas for other poems. It does get a little winded. Still great though. You are the person who gives me shivers outside of myself.
;
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holy hell, i won't piss you off.
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You could never piss me off, m'precious,because unlike others you are anything but stoopid.
Besides, I'm with Hannibal Lecter...I prefer the taste of 'rude range' Muahahahahaaaaa.... -
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baby's always got my back
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Now I'll never have a chance!
This was brilliance. There were a bunch of yummy, bitter lines in this one. There you go making me hungry again
You're aweshome! Good luck in teh contest 
Jeanette*~
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Way cool
This is a kick ass poem! I really agree with the sentiments you expressed here. And your metaphors rang true, they were an excellent touch. I'm glad I found this poem, it was a damn enjoyable read!
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