"Mighty" Mike McGee's Electronic Place of Himself.
Typings of a well-traveled, talky, funny, hobo-poet.
CRUSHING LONELINESS
Copyright 2010 Mike McGee
(A first draft.)
Fucking loneliness…
Oh, what a laughable, horrible, gnarled loop of sadness you are.
How dare you come around again.
You were told last time you commandeered my bed and my room and my time and my bath towel:
Your service is questionable and ultimately reprehensible.
Most of the time,
I find you not worth the price of saltwater lubrication.
But I am learning that your first wave of attack, triggered too easily — be them songs, commercials, or the face of the one with whom my dreams think match me word for word — you fucking beastly rash, is the conductor that times and tunes me to the key of crying.
They are these wails, for that face or for this world, that are the girders and reinforcements within my chest, keeping you from crushing me to punctuation.
You abhorrent trend. You old English tongue: I just barely comprehend you. You are all too familiar in my ears and throat. I want you out of me and this house.
I will blast you with rock and rap and folk and laughter. I will serenade you with my lung songs that sound more like an abandoned pet at the bottom of my stomach. I will not give up on love or joy just because you have broken into my skull once more with your crowbar sadness. But indeed, you are very good at it. A formidable enemy. You are undoubtedly my truest foe.
I will overcome this crushing. I will crush back and do it in all of its meanings for all those you’ve terrorized. I will stompfuck you with lovefeet, you dancefloor of shit and misery. You ugly bristle. You kanker sore in my love mouth. I pull your teeth so not only will you stop biting, but to ensure your retreat.
You pox on all things sunny and warm. Evaporate your cold from this place. Extract all of this meanworld blood that is not mine.
See how I win? I have these words and hope.
So I win. I win. And you win this bucket of saltwater. Congratulations, fuckhole. Take your ocean pittance and be gone. I have love to champion and peace to welcome.
I hope, therefore, I win.
This entry was written by , posted on 27 March, 2010 at 12:45 PM, filed under New Poems and tagged mike mcgee poem, New Poems, poem. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
CRUSHING LONELINESS
Copyright 2010 Mike McGee
(A first draft.)
Fucking loneliness…
Oh, what a laughable, horrible, gnarled loop of sadness you are.
How dare you come around again.
You were told last time you commandeered my bed and my room and my time and my bath towel:
Your service is questionable and ultimately reprehensible.
Most of the time,
I find you not worth the price of saltwater lubrication.
But I am learning that your first wave of attack, triggered too easily — be them songs, commercials, or the face of the one with whom my dreams think match me word for word — you fucking beastly rash, is the conductor that times and tunes me to the key of crying.
They are these wails, for that face or for this world, that are the girders and reinforcements within my chest, keeping you from crushing me to punctuation.
You abhorrent trend. You old English tongue: I just barely comprehend you. You are all too familiar in my ears and throat. I want you out of me and this house.
I will blast you with rock and rap and folk and laughter. I will serenade you with my lung songs that sound more like an abandoned pet at the bottom of my stomach. I will not give up on love or joy just because you have broken into my skull once more with your crowbar sadness. But indeed, you are very good at it. A formidable enemy. You are undoubtedly my truest foe.
I will overcome this crushing. I will crush back and do it in all of its meanings for all those you’ve terrorized. I will stompfuck you with lovefeet, you dancefloor of shit and misery. You ugly bristle. You kanker sore in my love mouth. I pull your teeth so not only will you stop biting, but to ensure your retreat.
You pox on all things sunny and warm. Evaporate your cold from this place. Extract all of this meanworld blood that is not mine.
See how I win? I have these words and hope.
So I win. I win. And you win this bucket of saltwater. Congratulations, fuckhole. Take your ocean pittance and be gone. I have love to champion and peace to welcome.
I hope, therefore, I win.
Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.
This entry was written by , posted on at 12:45 PM, filed under Personal Updates and tagged mike mcgee poem, New Poems, poem. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Love Letter to a Poet #1
Dear, Laura Yes Yes,
In the last 24 hours, I have discovered how much more beautiful and strange you are. You were always one of those girls from home. Young and settled. I am glad you stopped in and made better friends of me. Worcester needs the “I-fuckin-do-what-I-need-to-do” of your hair and hips.
Your fire is a drive-in that others will stop to watch someday. I am lucky to get an early screening.
Your heart pumps sexy like it’s squat-sitting on the well of an endless supply. Your nose knows where it goes, but you haven’t finished drawing your maps. You will. You will erase them a couple of times, but you will get there. Call me when you do. I may point and laugh at the trajectory but I will applaud the journey.
NEVER FORGET THE JOURNEY.
I cannot wait for the world to cast you up into where you hope they’ll put you. They have the power to throw and you just need to let them do it. Be sure to love them when it happens and give it all back when you’re done.
We won’t be held up for what our names do, but we are certainly responsible for the words that come under them. Own them and give them away with leashes so people can get back to you. See the world. Find yourself a place that looks lovely, like a mirror. Stay a while. Maybe a porch. Maybe a couch. No matter. I want to run into you again anywhere, my friend.
Love,
McGee
This entry was written by , posted on 1 March, 2010 at 4:31 PM, filed under Uncategorized and tagged laura yes yes, love letter #1, mike mcgee poem, poem. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Love Letter to a Poet #1
Dear, Laura Yes Yes,
In the last 24 hours, I have discovered how much more beautiful and strange you are. You were always one of those girls from home. Young and settled. I am glad you stopped in and made better friends of me. Worcester needs the “I-fuckin-do-what-I-need-to-do” of your hair and hips.
Your fire is a drive-in that others will stop to watch someday. I am lucky to get an early screening.
Your heart pumps sexy like it’s squat-sitting on the well of an endless supply. Your nose knows where it goes, but you haven’t finished drawing your maps. You will. You will erase them a couple of times, but you will get there. Call me when you do. I may point and laugh at the trajectory but I will applaud the journey.
NEVER FORGET THE JOURNEY.
I cannot wait for the world to cast you up into where you hope they’ll put you. They have the power to throw and you just need to let them do it. Be sure to love them when it happens and give it all back when you’re done.
We won’t be held up for what our names do, but we are certainly responsible for the words that come under them. Own them and give them away with leashes so people can get back to you. See the world. Find yourself a place that looks lovely, like a mirror. Stay a while. Maybe a porch. Maybe a couch. No matter. I want to run into you again anywhere, my friend.
Love,
McGee
Originally published at Mike McGee Town. You can comment here or there.
This entry was written by , posted on at 4:31 PM, filed under Personal Updates and tagged laura yes yes, love letter #1, love letters to poets, mike mcgee poem, poem. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.