Another review, this time of Elias Van Son's 'Little Feather'

Last week I got a nice little present in the mail. One copy of Little Feather, written by Elias Van Son. I liked it as soon as I opened it up (Elias wrote me a nice note). Oh yeah also I like the poems lol.

Before I get into the review, I would just like to make mention of Elias’ name… The Son… as in… Son GOKU? 

Sorry but the name is cool.

Anyways, Little Feather is a rather hefty collection of poems. Around 125 pages in length, the book is split into two parts: ‘singing’, and ‘seeking’. As the summary states, “It is a farewell to boyhood and the makings of a man”. So, as children party and live according to the senses, adults look for a deeper meaning behind life. A pretty cool concept and it’s reflected pretty well in Elias’ pieces.

Expanding a little bit on this idea, as I had talked to Neon and Jacob before putting out a review (to make sure I even knew what I was talking about) I did the same to Elias, and he mentioned a couple things. He said that the poems reflect a childish point in his life, and that they were selfish but well-meaning. I find that perfect. This book is practically a log of that process of transformation. 

The poems range from psychedelic and fantastic to simple and wise. However, Elias consistently stitches his words like a true poet. I am not sure what his background is, but he appears competently disciplined, and well aware of the words he chooses, and is really good at creating cool images. His pieces are well crafted, and poetic. Poetic poems. I can’t really think of a better way to describe it. You ever like read a novel, or listen to some song lyrics, and they’re like poetic because of the depth, décor, and imagery associated with them? That’s like Elias work. If you like put it to song, somebody a little high would probably be like, “no listen dude it’s like poetry”. 

My favorite piece in ‘singing’ is found early on. ‘6 12 08 1200 AM’ (under the stars in the table of contents). I pretty much like any reference towards gazing at the night sky, and this short piece is pretty much like one.  

under the stars

on the hood of my car

eyes endlessly sway in

the hammock of heaven

Many other pieces in ‘singing’ are full of imagery, and nature and setting. But a lot of them are cryptic, and vague. I’m not complaining though. Elias said a lot of these poems were selfish. A lot of these pieces must come from personal experiences. ‘Singing’, to me, seemed like a personal song in a foreign language. Beautiful, even if you don’t understand all the words. You can still pick up on key things, and feel some of the vibrant struggles and experiences from this period of Elias’ life.

What really drew me in was the second half of Little Feather. Where I liked a lot of the feel for ‘singing’, I liked a lot of the meaning in ‘seeking’.  My favorite piece? Damn. If I had to pick, do let the firefly. If you’ve read any of my other stuff on this blog, you probably figured I like bugs. LOL. But that’s not just it for this poem.  For me, I felt this was a perfect piece in contrasting the dynamic and sometimes uncontrollable (at least emotionally) nature of youth versus the contemplative and restrained adult.  

                                                      do                                                                           do not

                                                      let the firefly                                              clench a neon

                                                      read your fortune                                         fist in anger

Pretty cool.

Granted, a lot of this is my own interpretation. I dunno if that’s what Elias was talking about when he wrote these poems. Vivid and vague. That’s how I would describe the overall feeling I got from Little Feather. If those two words appeal to you, then I recommend giving some of his poetry a go. 

For anyone interested, here's a link to a free pdf. Please check it out. It really is an awesome read.

http://www.mediafire.com/?yexzwwniizn

Read ‘Em and Weep... Or Not. But Read These Books!

I’m doing my very first book review. Well, I’m doing two actually. Don’t know why I’ve never done a review for pretty much anything before (I probably just don’t trust my own taste). But I keep coming across all these people’s chapbooks, and mostly find out about them from reviews. So to help promote my two good poet buds, I decided to speak about what I feel regarding their shit.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let’s talk nEonsense. Fuck yeah nEonsense. This was a ridiculously cool book. Why? To start, originality, the creativity, the structure and colors. Presentation wise, this book is rad. Flip through a poetry section somewhere, and you won’t find a book like this. It looks like it belongs in a craft section or art section or some shit like that. 

You feel adventurous? Like taking a risk? Like getting down and glittery? Hold one of these books.

Why am I emphasizing the physical aspect instead of what’s written? Because nEonsense is very physical; it’s an in-your-face book that takes poetry to a whole new level. It’s beyond literature, beyond poetry, beyond words; it’s a straight up piece of art that is both wonderful to read and to look at. 

Let me explain that. Neon Glittery’s writings always force me to read not just each word, but each character carefully. Sometimes it comes across as coded, and alien (and that might just be me, I ain’t too bright), but I feel that’s awesome. Sometimes emotions, experiences, shit like that is coded, and is alien. They can be indescribable, and this is that beyond thing I’m talking about. The structure of her words and the characters themselves are very visual, and in order to take anything from the reading careful attention is required. You have to look both at and beyond the words.

My favorite overall piece is sub rosa. Towards the second half, Neon emphasizes spacing between the letters of certain words, like:

a       c        r          o             s                    s

And:

d

o

w

n

It drew me in, made me grin, like “fuck that’s cool”. Gave me the felling like I was being dragged across, and down. 

Most of her pieces are unique, other-worldly, and seem to focus on embracing this strangeness. Strewn in are bits that seem to hint towards a sort of nostalgia, and recollection of certain experiences and memories.  Some are written clearly, and then some seem to set ablaze in neon fashion, like a blast of emotion occurred while writing. 

If you enjoy the unique, read nEonsense. If you like challenging pieces, read nEonsense. If you are neonsensical, then nEonsense will make sense. 

 

if allergic to glitter, handle with care

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I also had the fortune to read Jacob Steinberg’s new chapbook, This isn’t about Jon Ross, it’s about art. This is another cool work. In it, over a series of poems, Jacob deals with an unrequited crush, and eventually moves on. 

The language is simple, but conveys some universal shit. Like getting over people, dealing with rejection and disappointment, and ultimately creating something out of it. Sort of like a narrative, we witness Jacob worrying a bit over missed texts, until this sort of neglect becomes longer, and soon he is obsessing over Ross, until eventually he has to move on. I like that. Because it’s honest. The language is honest, and the emotions are honest. This isn’t a book that’s going to blow your mind with new and deep shit. It’s a book that you’re going to relate to, and understand what Jacob’s feeling, and witness what can be gained out of loss (which I feel, in Jacob’s case, is this book; hence the title).

 I feel rejection isn’t easy for anyone, and we all tend to obsess over it, even if we hide it. I’m glad this book conveys that. Especially with the internet, people are more and more obsessed with who’s looking at whom, ya know? Whenever Jacob mentions checking his trackers, I know I’ve done that. Still do. We all do. And most of the time, we’re checking up to see if ex’s, crushes, people we want to be paying attention to us, are. This sort of stuff really presents what it’s like to be of this generation and habits we’ve formed through social networking shit. 

My favorite poem has to be “Does Dropping Falafel Balls Into Scorching Hot Oil Count As Disintegrating All My Feelings For You?” It’s one of the last pieces, and if Jon Ross is a type of narrative, then this is the climax. Jacob imagines that every falafel ball he drops into the fryer is a word texted to him from Ross, signifying the process of letting go of the relationships that we hold onto after they are gone. It’s a cool analogy, and little parts of it made me smile. 

Side note: Some of these poems were originally Spanish, and translated over. I dunno if that takes away anything, but Jacob himself translated them so I am assuming he conveyed the same sort of emotion in English from Spanish. 

Just broke up with somebody? Get Jon Ross. You haven’t? Well, you probably will so get this book. Anyone that has wrestled with the same things as Jacob should give Jon Ross a chance. 

 i'm risking my manliness here, but for real the size of this book was cute

Fill My Veins Like a Haiku Twinkie

My girlfriend recently gave me a piece of jewelry, a pin, shaped like a ladybug. I acted like it was no big deal, but really it was a struggle to keep myself from smiling wide. 

See, in the Reprobus Mythos, ladybugs are an important symbol. Luck, of course. Luck they give freely, because according to legend Reprobus saved one from the snare of a spider’s web, something he wouldn’t normally do (Law of Nature dudes; law of club and fang). Pleading for her life, the ladybug managed to bribe Reprobus into saving her, promising that Reprobus would have an endless blue sky of luck rise around him, and that ladybugs would always be secretly watching over him. 

They do, too. Even in the dead of winter, it is pretty common to come across a ladybug in my room (honestly I don’t know how). So I’ve always liked them. I put the pin on my mala in my car. Not sure if that’s like bad or something. But I like it.

I think bugs are cool in general. Fireflies, OMG! I wrote a haiku once about fireflies. IMO the most haiku of all haiku I’ve written. Every time I read a haiku that is SO damn close to being perfect then the write must have had what I consider a haiku experience. Something so damn vivid that there really is no way to capture the emotion behind it. For me this is what that experience was like.

Before I was driving, I used to walk the 4 miles to where my buds hang out. Cedar Lake is a fairly quiet, small and somewhat rural area, so there are decent amounts of woods to explore. One of these areas was cut on the edges by a length of train tracks. So my walk would lead me these tracks, and I’d climb on them and take them along the edges of the trees until I came directly behind where everyone was. 

It’s normally a scary walk at night. On one side, you have a dark patch of wilderness, full of sounds and shadows. On the other side you had a cement factory, strewn with jagged and intimating pieces of crag and the like, silent and dead.  Both sides of the tracks looked like areas from a horror story.

Still, the tracks took about 20 minutes off my walk so I took them. Usually hurriedly. Usually while blaring my IPod and jumping at every shrub or shadow. On my return trips, there was this one piece of bush that I always mistook for a figure and would send my heart racing LOL.

I’ve got a lot of stories about this stretch. But the most memorable, isn’t so much a story as it is a scene. The haiku experience I’ve mentioned.

Beautiful. Breathtaking. Left me speechless, practically unconscious. Whereas it’s fairly common to see fireflies in the summer, and bunches of them near the woods, the amount that were out that night was immeasurable. Like snow, like rain, bright flashes surround the entire woods, the factory, and the tracks. When I tried to describe it to my friends later that night, it felt like I was a God or something, some huge being swimming in the stars. I don’t know if it was like a baby boom thing, or if it was darker than normal so the flashes seemed brighter, but it was awesome. Take a picture of nighttime woods off Google and fucking shake gold glitter over it. Seriously, I can’t stress how many there were.

I say it was a haiku experience because I really basked in it. Lost track of everything. My rushed and terrifying stroll has now leisurely and peaceful. I zoned out, took everything in around me, felt great, and before I knew it was out of the area. Not once was I scared.

I posted the haiku on allwritethen. Here is the original:

Stars by Reprobus

Pitch black summer night-
fireflies light the train tracks
that I saunter on

I wish I could incorporate the ethereal feeling I got. I am going to try to for the Dead and the Dying. I am writing a response to this piece as well.

In Sauk Village, right of the Trail, they have been doing road work for like 4 months now. It’s a pain in the ass because the lanes are cut down to one on both sides, and the rest are covered in bright orange barrel things, the ones with the flashing lights on them. Construction doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Instead it seems like the single lanes are becoming thinner and thinner, and more barrels are being added.

On one of my late night drives, I was on the Trail with the street empty, and started thinking how in a way the emergency lights on the barrels reminded me of the fireflies in the woods. So the Dead and the Dying is going to have a piece reflecting this and what I felt. Here it is, unedited as of now:

Ghetto Fireflies by Reprobus

If I ever did experience a haiku

It happened on the tracks,

Right before Parish,

That run along the thickness of the woods

Where I found myself walking

Beyond the earth and among the stars

Like a million fireflies

Like that fucking shitty song

But no romance involved

Only myself and the bugs

It was the only time

I’ve ever walked that path late

And not been at all nervous

For the last month

Sauk village has been doing roadwork

Expanding the trail outside of Dyer

And each day the flashing cones

Multiply

In the night, they become

A bleak version of that experience

As if to say

This is your future

The fireflies are gone

The only lights that scare away the beasts

Are dead and not at all watching over you

LOL the title. Definitely needs work though. But I like the idea of it so far. Anyways, that’s it. Peace.

Oh shit no wonder i aint got much friends

LOL was digging around some stuff to transfer onto my NEW (and very first) laptop, and found some haiku. Part of the 'Ahhs and Awws' lol... Maybe Shaun Gannon wasn't so much busy as he was like, "wtf is wrong wit dis kid". A short poem while I figure out the rest of this computer thing.

Muff Diving Head First Deep into the Red Sea by Reprobus

licking at a gash
my tongue swishes all around
blood drips down my chin

Like, explaining and shit a poem I wrote, yea

I'm bored and don't have much time to write anything new, or edit. Which sucks. Figured I'd bust out one of my favorite things I wrote, and why I like it.

I wrote this on LPP within the first couple weeks of posting there. I like it for a number of reasons. 

Werewolf by Reprobus

Nothing in those streets, Nothing ever sleeps
So I am called to them every night.
The Somnolent Bringer,
The Sandman,
Is an asshole. He comes every time I lay and like an asshole
Instead of sprinkling sand into my eyes,
Blows an air horn into my ears.
So I move to make my way to the restless concrete.
I stumble from my covers tripping onto the floor.
I once read Nanakorobi yaoki
or something like that
Fall seven times, and stand up eight.
I am only partially faithful to this advice.
I never fall flat.
I never hit the ground.
I somersault and roll forward back onto my feet.
Is it God? Is it Luck? Is it physics?

I board my Focus.
With unlocking spurs, stab and turn.
It kicks up.
We pass Indiana.
Cross the border to eyes wide open
Whipping past the Indian trail.
A sunroof opens and on display
Dark and dotted like the streets of Europe with the plagued rotting victims
Stars litter the sky
Not a single one to guide
Useless like the dead.

It is desire and instinct, an animal calling, that leads us into and through
The Woods.
Into the Ugly
The Lit Up
The Thin
Where it is night and Spring is arriving as we do.

It is not the warming
nor the first Robin that flies in the sky
that signals the end of Winter in these woods.
It is the smell of desperation
Desperate formoneyforsupportforcrack
And the arrival of another flighty creature that lies with dogs.
The Snow melts. Crawling from her slum beds her torn sheets her stained sheets her sweat and spunk and diseased sheets
She exits her lair
but not before she prepares
weaves her hair
applies make-up here and there
and sheds herself half-bare
Donning red pumps
or black boots
She clicks and she clacks her way towards the very stretch of path in the Woods that we are making our way to, Me and My desire.

A crowd of creatures, clothed but still bestial
Surround the Eternal Lamb.
Curious I glance towards the feast

Knowing better
Aware of a more delicious morsel
I drive towards the Birds.

They whistle and snap their fingers wave their wings tossing feathers and cat calls and clicking their tongues
Peacocks desperate for attention Desperate for the money Desperate to give tricks and smoke crack.
Like a deer caught in headlights
But not frozen, rather engaging
The Birds flock towards my car
calling enticing seducing
Tweeting the same mating calls that speak to My desire.
But I did not come to the woods for them. My desire did not come to the woods for them.
Ravenous, I hunt you.
The scent of the Birds are but background music, subtle effects that drown under your melody.

Stalking down quiet Ashland,
closer and closer
and faster and faster.
I shed my wolf-skin.
I snap a collar into place,
Knock three times
You answer the door.
Take me in.
Scratch my ears.
Rub my belly.
Call me a Good Boy.
Whimpering, and flashing blue.
Comfortable,
We both begin to dress in fur and bite the collars off.
We feast.
My Howls answered.
My Belly full.

The Sandman has no power here, his air horn but background music, subtle effects when compared to the melody of your warm naked body.
My Desire slinks away to find another host in Chicago Heights.
We sleep.

Originally titled And I Duran, Duran So Far Away, I like this one a lot because it basically ends with me and my girlfriend doing it lol. The whole thing makes a lot more sense is you know the Chicago Heights area, and even more sense if you are my girlfriend lol again. 

What this stemmed from was from around that time, my girlfriend telling me that the smell changes in the Heights when Spring officially arrives because of all the hookers taking to the streets. I really thought that was funny, so I wanted to write about that. I was reading Prufrock in a class at the time as well, so I modeled it after that poem. The section here

Dark and dotted like the streets of Europe with the plagued rotting victims
Stars litter the sky

was created because I wanted a part like the opening lines that Eliot used. There are other allusions to poems I like, such as Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

The Woods.
Into the Ugly
The Lit Up
The Thin

and this section 

A crowd of creatures, clothed but still bestial
Surround the Eternal Lamb.
Curious I glance towards the feast

refers to a small poem I really liked by Stephen Crane, In the Desert. The eternal lamb is the 24 hr gyro stop on Chicago Road, which I always want to eat at but am kind of afraid to because there are always gangster's hanging around the place at 2 AM lol. 

I changed the title to Werewolf because I want to follow that sort of theme in 'Haunted Penis', and I plan on editing this, though I don't know by how much because this is one of the few pieces I threw up and actually like. Practically every part of this poem means something to me, and almost every word (save for particles, conjunctions and the like) was picked put carefully, despite the simplicity of the language. I also named it Werewolf because of the last bit. The whole biting of the collars part... well, the neck is a sensitive area. Kiss a girl a bit down there (or even a guy) and you can get 'em pretty worked up lol. 

Hopefully this doesn't come off as pretentious. I don't want to sound like my poetry is so cryptic that only I can explain it lol. I just wanted to share a bit about what inspires some of my stuff. A number of my poems are based around experiences and scenes of the Heights, and driving back and forth from state lines. Well that's it for now, maybe I'll explain some more poems later. Peace.

Haven't posted in a little while

Well, I finally got the internet back at home, but since I've got my refund check for school my mom refuses to let me use the computer. She says I have enough money for a laptop, and need to buy my own (not even joking here). Apparently my need to write papers for school, and you know do anything else productive like write poems, is unfair to my hippie brother who needs to get super blazed and watch 10 hours of Adult Swim reruns on megavideo. EVERY FUCKING DAY.

So I am still set back a bit as far as getting my blogs posted as much as possible throughout the week. The time I have at school so far is spent doing homework, which I am finished with for the rest of my break today. Posting shit now lol.

I haven't had time to edit anything as far as 'Haunted Penis' goes, but was able to quickly gather everything I needed that was already posted online. So I should be able to start that this weekend, maybe be able to get some preview shit out there in the next couple weeks.

My other focus has been starting 'The Dead and the Dying'. Got about 10 pages of that, completely unedited. Here's a little bit of it:

'Leant over the cliff side, Nanashi sees the bluebird

Streaking blue like his eyes, dive kamikaze

Into the black ocean, swirling pitch like his hair.

Inspired by such deadly avionic freedom

The brooding samurai unsheathes the short sword

And in a swift slit, loosens his intestines from bondage

Letting go of his mind and his head too

No longer needing his body to live

No longer giving a fuck

Nanashi takes the final plunge

Into the beginning of awakening'

This I built upon one of my very first poems that I published to LPP. Here's the original:

The Samurai by Reprobus

That moment, when I first saw him
my mind elightened.

Back straight, eyes shut,
Seiza’d and relaxed.
It was lunchtime.

With what seemed to be a carefully practiced level of non-chalence
he ignored the accessible design of the banana.

Similar to grabbing a chunk of hair and pulling with might until it pops with an equal chunk of scalp
the man removed the stem; he lifted the nail off the yellow finger fracturing the tip.

He did not undress the skin. Carpelly ignorant, the man gawkily rocked the banana between his palms, Indian drum rattle style.

A couple of seconds until he had nude fruit.

There was no savoring of this careless toil. And did not seem to have a point. For in an instant he swallowed the fruit and then the skin.

His bungling opening, his fumbling undressing were pointless.

I asked myself, why bother. Why not save minutes and eat the banana whole.

Then a moment of peace. I realized. Here was a man who perfected the art of not giving a fuck.



I take my wakizashi, I stab not slice an area and thrust my hand in. I pull out my intestines. I do not die though.

I ask for no assistance in my beheading. I use the inconvenient short sword once again and hack away at my neck.

My head is gone. Still I do not die. My organs are gone. I am still not dead. I am bloodless.

I am more alive then ever and do not need my body to live.



I do not give a fuck.

I really just liked that last little bit, about some dude that doesn't give a fuck to the level where he has completely destroyed his body and by no means could a person still be alive, and yet he still lives. All three of my Samurai poems will be a part of 'The Dead and the Dying' somehow; they will only be vaguely reminiscent of their original pieces.

I'll start posting some edited versions of 'Haunted Penis' soon.

Peace.

Car smells like vinegar... also, new poem

My car smells like vinegar. Or at least it did a couple days ago. Turns out moisture from the AC can create mold. Fuck. So I sprayed my vents with Axe. Bad idea. Last night I got some lysol, sprayed that shit again. Worse idea.

Driving makes me sick. For real.


Vultures by Reprobus

crippled on the cracked concrete

carrion gods crowd my body

pecking. My skin flakes

“WAIT I AM NOT DEAD YET”

That is what you think they screech

New poem; may possibly be included in my first chapbook Haunted Penis

I have two chapbooks planned out. My goal for the fall semester is to gather, edit, add to, and create a chapbook. Titled Haunted Penis, it's going to consist of haiku, tanka, and short poems only. Themes will be the supernatural, self-mutilation, sex, gore, and absurdity. Will contain a lot of my short bits on LPP, maybe some of the ones off AllWriteThen, and previously unpublished and new pieces.

My second chapbook, well, I want that to be a secret. It's going to take at least 6 months to write, and just as long to edit. As of right now I'm worried about the ambition behind it overflowing, but we will see. So far it's titled The Dead and the Dying, and all I'll say for now is it involves two intertwining stories; a samurai constantly reliving his final moments and a 20's something man descending unto the spirits to find his dead sister.

Anyways, here's a short fun thing I did. A collection of tanka translated from an alien language, lol.

Picked Up Some Signals Containing Teenage Alien Tanka, Translated by Reprobus

space gusts

suffocate, my lungs

fill with nothing

my heart is a black hole

no love is let in

no emotion escapes

I am anti-matter

anti-organic, anti-robotic

anti-dead, cosmic vampire

Wow... like a week or some shit since I posted last.

Well, I'm out as far as the internet goes. At home at least. I can still check my facebook from my phone, but that's about it. No updating blogs, or posting on LPP, or even email (my phone fucks up when I try and sign in to hotmail). Not all that bad though. I can use the internet at my girlfriends, though I'm not as enthusiastic about doing things like writing and shit around others, so.

Anyways, I've been using my phone and a notebook I've got to keep track of writing things and ideas down in the meantime. I figure I should try and get some shit out there that I've got so far then. You know, stay active. So here's a poem, which I will post on LPP pretty soon.

Read Between the Lines by Reprobus

Saw -ry
Eye m knot at owl
str8 --->.
butt Eye knead ewe 2 stahp
テ king evrythin Eye セ
sew litter rally
(h)and
★t 2 enter pit it.

Sent a few haiku to New Wave Vomit. Let's see if they get up.

I decided to send a few haiku to New Wave Vomit. I'm going to try and send shit out a couple times a week to a bunch of different places. Taking 'getting out there' seriously now. Here they are.

Kawaiiku by Reprobus

dripping wet, mewing

kitty wrapped in big towel

shivers and sneezes

Kowaiiku by Reprobus

out of my nostril

a centipede crawls, crunching

a piece of my brain

Rhymeku Kowaiiku by Reprobus

my chest’s blister pops

clear, runny liquid pours out

to the floor, it drops

The poems came from an idea I put up on LPP a while back. I wanted to make little genres of haiku, playing with the actual word itself. Kowaii in japanese means scary and Kawaii means cute, so I figured find imagery that is horrifying or cute and write about it. Rhymeku, well I just wanted to see if I could make rhymes in haiku form. What I got up there is pretty sloppy, but I would still like to challenge myself and try making some more.

Also awhile back, I asked Mr. Shaun Gannon if he'd collaborate with me making some of these types of haiku. I wanted to get a collection started of kawaiiku and kowaiiku and call it, Awws and Ahhs but both of us got busy. Haven't really gone back into putting any work towards it, though I do have a collection saved up on my phone. I think it'd be cool to look into, but I'm gonna wait now until I've got enough recognition to draw other people into the project. So anyone that stumbles upon this and is interested...

PS- My girlfriend just audibly AWW'd at the kitty one when I should it to her. Pretty much the reaction I wanted. SCORE!

That's it for now. Peace. 

New Poem, posted it on LPP already.

Got a new poem up, like shit, talking about beliefs and stuff. Yo.

Honestly, I'm not entirely an atheist. You see, I've got notebooks full of phrases I jot down when I think of them, and my phone's notepad is the same way. About 2 weeks ago the rhyme 'baking tips for an atheist' popped up in my head, and it's been sitting in phone since. I wanted to get rid of it because I liked it. So I tweaked it some and built a short poem out of it. Enjoy.

Jesus Falls Butterside Down by Reprobus

An atheist
gave me some baking tips
said to take faith and mix
it with logic, and take a taste of it.
What a waste. I spit
the chewed up bit
into the garbage, and I sit and pick
all the pieces of God outta my sandwich.

Mmm, delish…
…Bitch.

Posted a personal poem on LPP, emailed it to Metazen to see if they'd publis it... We will see.

I decided to post the most personal thing I've yet to write. 

My idea at first was to use haiku imagery to detail the abuse from my mom's boyfriend for most of my childhood. I sorta drifted away from that a bit at times, but there are at least 5 solid sections that follow this.

I also submitted it for publication to Metazen. This is my first time doing something like this. I really don't know how that's gonna go. I guess I will find out, hopefully by tomorrow afternoon.

Anyways, here's the poem:

Golem by Reprobus

  

My mom cries sharply

from the room across the hall

as a slap rings out

I am eleven

He shows me a Hustler

asks if I want it

My sister jerks back

Fingers weave into her hair

and tug forcefully

I am twelve years old

He shows me a bag of coke

asks if I want some

A welted hand print

stains mom's left cheek, dark and red

moist from quiet sobs

I am thirteen now

I scream STOP as he hits her

calls me a faggot

PTOOEY! spit flies

snot drips down my sister’s face

She sinks to the floor

I just turned fourteen

when he calls me a pussy

in front of his friends

His hand knocks her face

My mom's top teeth become gapped

Her lips swell and bleed

Halfway through fifteen

He beats me more frequently

because I'm a bitch

From over the phone

"I'll fuck your daughter's asshole"

He says to my mom

years slowly

reel out like this

My family broken

by the man who took my dad's place

Still

when I was 15 in the hospital

it was his name I cried for

and not my dad's

and it was then that I realized

I am just like my mother

and to this day

I don't even know

who I hate more

the man who left me to die

or the man that did the killing.