an extract from 'The Weaklings'
1.
I hug my friends until
we're bruised. I won't
quit hugging them,
not if they scream
at me to stop. Every-
thing's a machine.
Snort it. Everyone's
a ride. I won't stop
riding us until the barf
backs up my throat
Everyone's fantastic
every second. Suddenly
one of us is torn apart
by a machine but I'm too
real to care. Fuck you.
2.
Father says when I'm stoned
shit is dumped into my brain
and then I fight my way sober
because I want to stay alive..
Mother says the perfect things
I really want invade my brain
when I get stoned, and drugs
are telling me I shouldn't die.
I say they slip the drugs into my
food and when I'm stoned they
take me to a secret room and
beat my brains in with their fists.
3.
I've drugged myself to your place
because my life is all fucked up.
You mistake my life for yours or
take the life you had imagined.
I'm so stoned yours seems real
but you were too fucked up to live
I wish I was dead and you aren't
because there's no place on earth.
4.
She was perfect
and licking a guy's
dick, blonde and
hot and I wanted
her, not to lick my
dick but my life.
Her eyes were
burnt wood brown
like a dog's, and
drugs screwed up
our opinions, and
she limped to me.
She shined up my
life in my head
and I thought it
was love licking
me, not my dick,
but It's still hard.
5.
I remember fists hitting my face,
golf balls lodged under the couch
and cold blue eyes I couldn't heat.
I wasn't stoned when he was that.
I see my mother every day now.
She's the drunk and I'm the druggie,
sans a husband, dad, soggy, fried.
He's a hum through the proceedings.
Today in my stoned exploration of
a corner of the crap I used to love.
I find my father in a faded photo
with the Presidents, smiling at me.
The flashbulb's glare hides his eyes
now, as permanent as the irises.
The Presidents are Nixon, Ford,
and Reagan. I don't know my father.
6.
A led pipe makes
Jeff look like Luke
in the end, same
build, reddish hair,
crushed mean face,
could fool anyone
taking photos, then
get high and bury
Jeff so deep inside
your head you make
believe he's Luke,
and deserved it like
Luke, then shut your
eyes and drugs can
answer any question
about Luke or ugly
Jeff, but at the same
time not as perfectly
as murdering myself.
7.
When drugs hit me, they
spotlight a little cell that
recreates my bright idea
inside the mixture of us.
I wish I were younger.
I know it was stupid then.
But now it's a drug in me.
Why fuck with the truth?
Maybe it's never my idea
being lit up by the drugs,
or they have shined shit.
Whatever this is, I rule.
http://www.denniscooper.net/otherworks.htm
buy this book. poetry is good for your skin and sexual drive. promise.
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