ditch,
the poetry that matters
P.S. Kolek
P.S. Kolek is an MFA poetry candidate at the University of Miami and has recently had a monologue presented in The Krane’s production of Monologues Lingus and will have two poems published in the upcoming edition of RECONTRUCTION: Studies in Contemporary Culture.
Dear Paula
Uncanny is words –
you rise see used to hum among
your eyes refuse to come to tongue –
in the basement, lights dim or off-
ten deep breathing is an ally
when grey bodies ten deep knee
press civilized bends doesn’t mean sex
with secret in dreams, not even Freud
murder in their eyes would guess you undress
skin to dodge silence
You are a receiver of disintegration, spelled
correctly or not, crossed
left or right –
confrontation: first names said like mothers
calling from front stoops to children
[ stupid is not a word
that rides red bikes or
flies
stupid
cowards in corners, full
stitched ledge-jumping lips ]
I’ve lied to you this whole time
I’m not the windup hero mouthing
You have never been stupid
Dear Paula,
you are more [ or less ]
honest when you write to yourself
These are truths:
my body is a much
unloved landscape,
its beauty disappoints
almost everyone
sometimes I feel
there’s no end to lack,
no end
to my lacking
success is measured
in days
I don’t hurt myself
*
I have a $5.00 dollar head – the dollar
or sign redundant
though sometimes
redundancy actuates newness
repetition ≈ innovation
Success could be defined
as riding a scooter through washed-out roads
or not burning
the hamburger
*
Nobody dies
from lack
of sex
–
but to never feel that again!
Shall I purge the kiss [ from both our memories ]
REGRET –
and not regret – new to
me an eroded mountain become tiny,
a cool stone placed beneath tongue
[ Tell me
nobody dies from becoming tiny! ]
*
My thoughts crawl
back into themselves
again, black holes
from which NOTHING
emerges – or remains frozen –
reaching
redshifted light never < outside observers
affecting
And if the light
changes none of this………………………………….…………………………………………….………………………?
Was it fate
I came so close
to begging yesterday
nearly happy with breadcrumbs
[ Salient language ( two parties in even argument ) over a telephone
is nearly mute
an un-moot point ]
*
You’ve become complacent!
All the ways I have to make you bleed –
punishment compelling you
to believe in god
[ the object of my affection, the
Object d’art…
a double flag: purple
and red ]
Perhaps both you and I
can fix this ░ who does that
when someone says,
I feel suicidal …
To shuck our skin ░ they’re only
trying to help ░ is at best
a distraction
the future is ≠
to feeling good again
ps. I should have written
PRAISE or CONSOLATION
The Beloved as a Series of Gazes
What can you hold in a
hand:
four fingers &
thumb, a bird, a
kite string [ ? ]
A kiss on the palm.
I let go the bike handles
all across Red road in the dark
[ without looking ] .
I double dog duck and deliver:
Dear headlights,
Please, don’t notice me.
Let someone else explain
for once for I am heavy tired
of talking.
The cats circle me
eye-shine green and whining
displeasure:
I feed & pet & sleep indoors
not lie for hours on a hard
stone bench, the light plunged
to earth and buried
beneath the mango tree.
And in the room there’s strangers
And in the hallway there’s strangers
And in my bedroom they’re strangers
And I am here on the hard wood floor
begging,
please hold me, please smile and kiss me. Put me on the burner just for now,
just to feel the heat, the frying pan in your hand
its heft and balance
the heat’s black iron
There are Two Motorcycles: Those Already Crashed and Those Waiting To
Skinny white boy
from Illinois your posture,
private smile
you take the stairs if I do –
our steps attuned to one another
[ safety margins less than they should be ]
When it’s time for you to go
you’re gone
before the gone reaches me → not faster
than light, certainly, but
faster than the time it takes thunder
or Goodbye to register
Are you prepared
for me to kiss you
without guilt?
This may be the last time
my therapist
will allow me to say any of this…
[ To hold your hand this last day! ]
I could try to forget you
could try
could probably …
Not a chance of rain
in winter Miami
but it’s nearly spring now,
the roads slick beneath my tires
[ We’re all adults here ]
It’s strange how the stars
are upside down
the moon
a sad smile
instead of crescent
Say, You won’t see me going [ to the grocery store without my helmet ]
Collision: noun
1. two particles exchanging energy
2. encountering
a skinny white boy from Illinois
[ Most accidents have a “me” factor in them ]
* * *
I’m buckled
but sometimes no amount of prescient safety
can keep heart from leaving body
If you’re driving too fast,
there isn’t always time
to stop
[ Yeah, that makes sense, too. ]
You say, Unavailable turns me on.
And if the diction
becomes available ( ? )
what will be said of your passion
then
My scooter will do
65 mph > 88 feet per second [ You can’t always
stop in time. ]
how soon I can reach you
you’ll say when I arrive. [ A scooter goes
where the rider looks. ]
Will three months do or
are we are lying to
ourselves.
