witness
By Kervin | June 2, 2010 | No Comments
the cruiser turned around to drive off
after she put her boxed things
in the seat
straight to voicemail
By Kervin | June 1, 2010 | No Comments
the phone rings. caller id reads “jesus fighting a velociraptor.”
christ, not again
they’re not content with their situation.
guess i’ll pick up and play receiver
“she just always wants a fight,” says He.
“put her on,” maybe I can gain some insight
awkward fumble while jesus fights the
velociraptor to hold the phone
“hello.”
“SKRREEEEEEEAARRRCCHHGGH”
“mhm. could you put jesus back on?”
clatter crunch thud. scuffle scuffle. crrricck.
“you see, kid? this is what i’m talking about.
never any capacity for a conversation; selfish
bitch.”
Click.
fighting
By Kervin | May 19, 2010 | 1 Comment
i am bred with such contempt
and not biologically
but as far as i recall i’ve tripped on hate, maim, destroy, kill:
silly short words whose simplicity fail to grasp
an aching desire to disassemble with violence
words voicing “you’re wrong,” and i turn around and break my wrist
trying to break myself without being broken
because my god, that’s easier than horse-whip apathy
screaming blood-soaked words backed by blood-soaked lungs spitting gravel
tearing throat, red and white, blisters boil and broken, Xs and Qs.
much like i walked through the nursery today
rows of irises pushed up and out of topsoil.
i called, they responded; so i walked
pressed in a place where “free love” and “the blues” met
this finite matrix–plotting a point where i stood
i strolled along, “her favorite,” one called “carelessness” broken under my foot
do I have your attention yet.
so i ached to press my back in the soil
grow and blossom and bloom and for one second serve as some fucking sort of example
before i wilt and die
nobody will read a bad poet, not for one second.
either i will get better
or i won’t
and i will die with blood in my soil
another twisted remnant dissolved to minerals
[mand]*ate
By Kervin | April 25, 2010 | No Comments
it’s easy because there’s just this line; it’s perfectly straight and slim and dark and defined. this contrast is visible to me now, this perfect, black line drawn down the middle of then and whom, just sitting there and defining the sides of the parts of this image i see. and how vivid this line, periphery blown out and bright edges shift in, out of focus, defying and defining a word: clarity. chase this, follow this, live this because it’s too simple and too collected to not, just live on the line, walk it like a tightrope dancer. menagerie, circus act, juggling fit of ripened enthusiasms collide, black-hole shrink to the closed clenched-fist of line. simple, beautiful, accessible, inexpensive ink-drawn, ink-jet, jet-black tattoo.
permalink
By Kervin | April 23, 2010 | No Comments
i can’t take all this
fucking spam
anymore.
i won’t let it
tarnish something
i built
from scratch–
from the floor up.
i will click all
the little boxes
i have to,
press a button
(which presses a button)
that makes it all
go away.
halfway from here to nowhere
By Anna | March 17, 2010 | No Comments
the mesas like a massive fleet,
at anchor, still and sobering in
the fading twilight. row upon
row
crewed by ghost and dry dusky
spirits of red earth. trains
cutting through the waves of
desaturated grass and sage, their
earth-colored forms a dotted directional line
leading me from point a to point be
chasing the sun westward, hot sticky road
stretching out infinitely in front, black line on a map
red pins nowhere near here anymore.
ask and ye shall receive – polarity switch
By Kervin | March 15, 2010 | No Comments
first, i will turn you into money, then i will put you in my wallet.
i put my wallet in my pocket and sit on it.
when i need some more money, i will buy it with you–
change you in for the one-hundred pennies you are worth–
PUNKSNOTDEAD
soggy, used, discarded you.
and when we’re done with you, we’ll put you in our pockets,
snap the tops, steal all your light:
spread four ways; corners of the earth.
your north is south, we hold your compass for you.
little babe, magnetized no more.
———-
hello, wide world of internet. kervin here, reporting from a leather sofa sitting in the recessed den of a lovely townhome in tempe, arizona, and i’ve decided to do a convoluted-message advice column laced with hints of grandiose idea, nay, Idea, while i precariously sit across the room from an edward cut-out. his right eye is terribly photoshopped because the photographer was evidently incapable of using dramatic lighting efficiently. the creator, he is a blundering man.
so what is there to say about a person on vacation, what sorts of advice should he give, and what sort should he take? it is hypocritical to suggest relaxation routines, or perhaps just cruel, since this is all he is capable of. as the moment goes, he is not at work, nor at school, but not far enough out of these routines to forget all about them, so he piddles with the minds of those around him to see the gears grind; to see the wrench bend as he threw it in. silly, mischievous little man. occupy yourself with something self-engaging.
or burn it all down. we’ll be long gone before they figure it out.
keep looking »
