“I Hate Myself & Want to Die”

I believe Fame once intended to give birth to a child.
Some accident happened and I was the abortion.

B. O’D.

I look at what i wrote 
& feel shame
rising like the flood 

my knees are weak &
the lamp light's glow 
flatters my corny poetics 

they're simplistic
& i hate myself no that's 
going too far with

my hand between 
my legs to keep it warm
my secret life 

these secret lines 
the waste paper bin i run 
into the yard

& after dark I set 
a match to watch it burn
the zero letter 

the one before this 
private alphabet yearning 
grasses knee-high 

in fiction cemetaries 
whips crack & knees bend 
beneath the weight 

of imperial leather 
straps to shave leg hairs off
diving into pools & 

rivers like gunshots 
into skin & areas on
maps there are zones 

where you're welcome 
at the very least a god 
while the people's god 

waits in wings between 
the pages of books & in
between my legs

he truth is my desires 
my ambitions that stumble
on dusty streets at dusk 

look towards a house
where she's waiting wearing 
starched armour & a look 

of dulled repressions 
casting glances at the wilting 
calendar & wiping down 

surfaces with hessian 
cloth a girl i'm seen with on 
some occasions but 

do not ride a horse poets 
shall be known by the way 
they walk on grass

fall to the earth & float
up in the sky i hate my
self & want to die

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