Wednesday, November 28, 2012

I am losing control of the language again

New stuff. Stuff I really like. The first poem was inspired by an unreleased early version of Prince's Elephants and Flowers. I also completely ripped off three or four lines from that. It's kind of unlike anything I've ever written. The phrase "only lovers left alive" isn't original, but its one I've been wanting to use for a very long time.
The second one was inspired by my sister using the title title phrase, hence her name in the subtitle, though she has nothing else to do with it. In a way its much like pretty much everything I write: depressing as hell and championing loneliness.  Most of its from the point of view of a character I don't know very well, but there's one line that's directly out of my own existence. Also, the line "all that's good is leaving" was cribbed from a Lindsay Fuller song, but I'm pretty sure I meant it in a different way than she did. Enjoy! Comment! Etc.!

 “only lovers left alive”

love leaves her stranded
on a cold november night
she finds a club, finds a drink
finds a partner she don’t have to teach
she focuses on the patterns, lets the night take her in its sweep

she takes the boy by the hand
the only thing he understands
is that she wants him on the dance floor
this is nothing new, a flash of heat
emotions strange, flattery flows like perfume

the boy’s barely alive
barely legal, barely anything
but he’s a natural, his body knows the way
she puts a finger to his lips
as if it’s a question, and he the answer

they’ll lose each other tomorrow
tonight belongs to sweat
frantic in a haze, they embrace each other
and for some brief, undefined moment
they are the only lovers left alive

“leaving las crucas (for kathryn)”

leaving las crucas with the weight behind me
liquor bottles in the backseat, belly full up
red eyes focused on the rearview
as if something is bound to give chase
maybe if i keep my foot on the pedal i won’t collapse

anywhere you go, you’re moving forward
never know what you’re leaving until it’s gone
when i think about the bad days
 i want to make the ones coming worse
i would break my back for salvation, but i’d only fuck things up again

endless chances brought about by endless cans of oblivion
i found my way past you, now i can’t find my way back
I never think about what i’m giving up until i’ve bartered it away
prayers were answered, but
i didn’t realize until i had shit on the results

don’t know what city i’ll leave next
all that’s good is leaving
i can’t escape myself,  the ruins behind me, they pace my memories
no such thing as safety in numbers
the only sure thing is staying alone and focused ahead

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Now i was 18/out there on the block/Selling drugs/With a gun at my waist/And for people I had no love

My current goal is to put something new up here every two weeks or so. I'm trying to write at least one new thing a week so that should give me enough to hold onto. I like to hold onto a few that no one has seen. This poem isn't great. It's actually pretty stereotypical Whitelaw. If you've read a lot of my stuff you've seen these themes over and again. Aw well.

“insufficient data”
do i wish that i was never born?
i don’t know what the alternative would have been
i don’t have enough information
to make an informed decision

do i wish that i was dead?
not right now, things are okay
but that could change
at any moment

the frailty of existence
tempts me into low times
but i’ve heard that there are better things
than being sad and alone

i might investigate that theory any day now
 or not, and I’ll stay where I’m sitting
as i’ve done for years
bleeding ink like tears onto paper, or into nowhere