I Wanna Talk to the Johns

Here at Waynesburg University, as any type of English major, we have to take a literary theory class. The big requirement for this class is to write a twenty-five page paper with theory as its basis. We were allowed to pick almost anything as our text so I chose the song "They'll Need a Crane" by They Might Be Giants because it actually has a lot going for it in the literary theory department. However, nobody on the internet realizes this so my project is getting hard to finish. I would desperately love to be able to e-mail the Johns directly and tell them about this project for quite a few reasons. The problem with this is that I don't think the Johns want to be contacted like that by their fans. It makes sense. Oh well.

Getting Back to It

I tried writing a new poem for the heck of it. Here it is.

Night Melting

Remembering real life

exists coincides with feeling

the lemony soreness

of my shoulders. Realizing

I never opened a door—one

with little turquoise

gems and gold paint

incorporated lavishly into the framework—

that led me to a stair-filled

world of demons, is exactly

the same as finding

a miniscule mound of gunk

piled in the corner of my eyes. I’m always

trading love-filled ship rides

for bright lights and bad breath.

Stuck

Sometimes you get stuck so you start looking at older stuff to see if that was any good. I don't know if this one is. I think it's okay, but I can't figure out what would make it better...

I dreamt about my grand—

father last night.

He trembled oddly

as he hugged me. I thought

perhaps it was because

of his age, but

he seemed no older

than I ever knew him.

He was still sturdy,

round and wearing

suspenders.

I’d call him Grandpa

Malcolm if I had another

who shared his title;

just like I had a Grandma

Marie and

Grandma June.

But there was never a reason

to do the same for him.

And when he died

I stopped talking

about him altogether.

Not that I spoke

of him much in his

life.

But I’m certain

there’s something bringing

him back. Because I

never knew him, never

received his sagely

advice, I must have

called for his hug

in some way.

Lazy Day

I spent a few days out in Ohio with a friend. We didn't do much but sit around and enjoy each others company. It might not sound fascinating, but it's perfect for friends who never do much anyway.

So, why not put up another poem?

I’ve Never Heard a Heart as Strange as Yours

In truth, those are little red

marks of love.

Or passion. Maybe just

lust. All those tingly bits

of abstraction. Stars in the sky,

right? Rose petals

and all that. . .

But it looks like my neck

was mauled by

wolves with a vendetta

and yellow teeth.

I’m certain God

has cursed us. I think

He does it in His

free time. Bored,

so why not curse

those dear children?

He’s given you a milk jug heart

that emptied out long ago

and keeps pumping

with the violence of

the hungry wolves

living in my fingertips.

I’m not sure

what He’s done to me

but it has something

to do with everything underneath.

The houses and cold nights

bubbling inside my skin

and the pancake of colors

behind my eyes. The ones

I see overlapping whatever

might be in front of me.

Starting up again

I'm one lazy blogger, but I think that's okay with only two followers. The purpose of this blog was originally so bloggers I was contacting could look me up to see what I'm about, but I stopped doing that for a few months. Anyway, I'm going to try to do more blogging for the summer because Mr. Thiegs asked me to start up again. Fun stuff! This time, however; I'll just be writing anything.

Frankly, I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of just writing a journal online for people to see, but I'm going to try to break myself of that discomfort. As a restart to this wonderful world of online thoughts I want to start by posting a poem I never had work-shopped. Please give me some feedback about it!

And People I knew Were in the Hall

You and I were

bathing in a white

tub with green claws holding

it up. Your pants

were still on

because you’re a little self

conscious about showing

your legs to me.

I was naked

and we were watching a movie

on the TV across from our tub.

Kissing your jawbone,

“My mom will be mad

if she walks in on us.”

You smiled with the smile

you use in devilish pleasure

rather than out of joy.

I focused on tiny, dark hairs

above your lips, and you told me,

“We’re fine.”

I got out and started

dressing. Forgot I had new

underwear and showed you

how nice it was.

Frills and bows to

cover what you’d already seen.

Water sloshed from the basin.

“Oh, hey,

I’m gonna take off.”

I became a cape

around your neck.

“You can’t leave me

now. I just put on

underwear for you.”

And you were already

in the doorway when you said,

“But I like England;

it smells like Spain.”