(CRUNCH OK, I’m awake
CRUNCH What do I say?
CRUNCH What dO I do?
CRUNCH Who AM I?
CR..WHO ARE YOU?..CH)

Nothing was created here
The words were already there
Nothing new or fresh becomes
Of a pencil and a pair
Of objects resting in a room
(A person and a chair)
Nothing was created when
The paper lost it’s bare
Existence.
Perhaps this is a
Test
Perhaps the homework’s done and this
Is where I put the best
Combinations of what I’ve learned
(My BACK, BACK, FORWARD+PUNCH)
To rest so I can get the best
Of each confusing crunch
Perhaps this is where it’s lost and
Nothing matters much
Perhaps the paper and man become
A cross-examined “one”

Perhaps, but that’s
Unlikely
The truth’s that this was just
A way to become slightly
Less
Of a man

The words were already there
I am just the soft flesh
The pink end
Of the pencil
CRUNCH Erasing nothingness
From the pages of an existence

An eraser? I am nothing but a man if I don’t make this
Work
If I can’t make it disappear
I’ll have just been beating off
Making me feel good until
I am carried off

I cannot touch the beautiful things for I make them fall apart
Smiles grow as black as the neglect around my heart
Flowers catch on fire; birds fly straight at the sun
Children burst out crying dogs turn around and run
A beckon call is ringing but I cannot seem to find
Anything resembling Alex Graham Bell’s great design
Bursting with confusion pulling masks over my face,
Gloves over my hands, and pants over my legs
I leave my chest exposed and begin to make my way
Around the Earth to find some snugness in a beast who wants to play
A beast who’s blind to ugliness and resistant to the rush
Of cancer painfully trickling from hands that yearn to touch
A beast who sings a song that could soothe the sickening ring
A beast who remedies everything that’s wrong with me

I need a beautiful beast
Who will not fall apart
A woman who can vindicate
A poet’s savage heart