dig deep to every gasp of air

you know it's fucking astounding how often i still mispell 'saviour' after eighteen years of writing it over and over again on the tops of  a thousand  sheets of looseleaf paper in catholic school.
"kerry, you are deceiving your audience."
i won't. 

you win.
i am smoking this cigarette because i think its romantic.
yes, i'm smoking this cigarette because i'm forever unsure of what the fuck to do with my hands when they're not pressing hard into the taut skin on your upper arms and shoulders.  i cried today in the pharmacy and no one noticed so i stole a nail polish,  it was named 'bare bones' and its title did it justice.  it doesn't matter, it's not important.
just everybody fuck off with your needs and your slow shaking heads. look me in the eyes. because all the people i used to know are all having babies and i just write poem after poem after poem about dead ones. today driving on route 212, this song came on that i knew, for sure, i had not heard for two whole years, two years ago, laying on a surgical bed covered in paper. 

i was going faster than 55 miles per hour and the speed limit was 40.
i knew there was no god, lying there on that surgical bed, god would never speak this loudly. through how many realms of reality did that specific song have to pass through to find me there then? right there with the doctors hands all over me and the crackling paper.
i know what i wrote, when i wrote about it but the truth is i kept playing that song after it came on, i kept hitting backwards so it would go again, circles around to where it was before, so i hope to see you soon in some other form.
passing every road sign in the car today my throat was filled with hummingbirds that know to never stop moving, or else. "or else,"  they say to me. cop cars  passed me by but never pulled me over. 


Alexandra said...

I keep reading your posts over and over again, because I'm afraid I'll miss something, things is, I always do.

There's a lot of ways to look at your words, sometimes I just apply myself onto them, but that feels so selfish. What I really want to do, I want to extract you, yes.

Kerry Giangrande said...

this sounds painful

Donald Angermeier said...

"because all the people i used to know are all having babies and i just write poem after poem after poem about dead ones."

rollerfink said...

great. again. as always.