“psychedelic latex is never aesthetic sculpture;”

(“magnetic poetry #1″ – cathartic love letters, brent saner)

so!

i finished the most recent update to my portfolio. 13 new pieces! and i fixed a WHOLE crap load of typos/spelling mistakes in other pieces.

you can read it here: cathartic love letters (143 pages, 187 pieces)
(a list of new pieces are on the changelog)

here’s a highlight of my favourites from this update: the “thursday night alone” series (foul language. be warned.)

thursday night alone

i know it’s your birthday,
so what?

why are you getting angry
for me caring about you and for
sticking up for myself
and for trying to keep you honest?

i am not answering your calls
because i am writing;
i will tell you that
but i will really mean to say,
“i didn’t pick up
because you make fun of my hair
and my antics
and the way i think
and my memory
and the way i smoke
and the way i drink
and the way i talk.”

so that is why i am not picking up my phone,
and that is why i won’t hear from you when you move to the windy city-
i’ll have to listen on the wind currents for your whisper.

i will send you my diary
from my island in a bottle;
i’ll rip out the page
where i clearly state
that i know we don’t have a chance together;
that unrequited is the quid pro status quo
(second page, third sentence).

thursday night alone (pt. ii)

you won’t miss me,
i’ll be glad i’m not back on the rack anymore.
let’s not kid ourselves here, kid;
i got crazy, you got mean.
we are rusted junk machines
sputtering.

daniel told me
that true love will find me in the end.
it’s not thursday anymore,
it’s sunday.
i think this is goodbye;
it’s going to be quiet, and awkward,
and i may drink too much wine.

i am bitter and better off,
i am shivering with cold on this early autumn night.
soon the razors of winter will come, when you will be far away
and i will be glad, i will rejoice.

thursday night alone (pt. iii)*

you called me because
you feel lonely.
i saw it was you
and i shrugged, and i picked it up;
“hello?”
“fuck you.”
“what?”
“fuck you.”
because i got you smoking.
i knew you were kidding (kind of)
but i still expected it.

but that’s okay,
i saw it coming when you left my flat that night.
and it’s okay
that you call me only when you smoke.
and i don’t mind
you being so far away
because i’ve been blessed,
i have been redeemed by a dodgy memory.

poor sleep habits
have saved me from writing you letter
after letter
and calling you just to let you know
i miss you.

if you’re wondering, i use the asterisks to denote “naughty words”- sometimes when you do poetry readings, they don’t let you cuss. this way i can just look at the title or table of contents and see which ones i can and can’t read.