[ pathopoetry] Upset, and a viewed thought

Look
if you press it hard enough
it will leave a residue

don't turn your mind that way
why must it always be
something like that

as though you can't think past
your pants

there is grey matter elsewhere

Look deep at me
you see
it crumbles

I am the advocate for
disparaging souls

[pathopoetry] +/-Sad

My head hurts.
I placed it where my heart was, added some fancy tissue paper
and closed the box.

What will it do there
where moths yearn to go?
complain to a sympathetic friend
who'll say, "it's your turn now."

[pathopoetry] Paperline

I weighed my worth in ounces
forgot the conversion factor, set
the 0 mark wrong

maybe if I shift to one foot
(the burden in the heart must count)
maybe if I lean forward

I spread my arms out, trying to expand myself

how much can you lift
with an emaciated soul
what mind can balance
on adequacy

[pathopoetry] 57

My wife was one of the 57.
Had she been 4? 14? 21?
Who made a mental note when they carried her
saw her crumpled face and thought, '34'?
Or did they do it after, on the ground
was she briefly 10 after 8...9...
covered with a sheet with her knees in the air
- too stiff to lay you down, my love!
There are no spaces for names between the stones
but isn't there a number that she can call hers?
Let them distinguish her from the dust
Give me something I can scream to the world
I tell you there was a sweetness in her
I won't let her dissolve within the words
unmarked as a person, but part of a scene
not just another bag beneath the dirt
not even a number to remember her by






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©pathopoet, 2006