‘how to disappear completely and never be found again’

Here is another one of my poems that I wrote last night, again, I don’t think I’ll use it for anything. This is something I’d be likely to submit to one of those lit mags I’m a little bit afraid of, lit mags that I’d feel ashamed sending any flarf-based poetry to. I find that it’s helpful to sometimes understand that one can be – and should be – slightly versatile when it comes to poetry. Not that one should be a jack of all trades and a master of none (which is my biggest worry about myself as a creative person. And my second worry is that I just used the sentence “which is my biggest worry about myself as a creative person”). Here it is, it’s called How to Disappear Completely and Never be Found Again. It’s about denial and the inability to accept the idea of a supernatural giving rise to the idea of trying to make the practical natural something it is not.

not even gathered to god but made cargo of yourself
years can strip themselves bare, distances made wider
gateposts are marked by 1 of 198 emails, between us
the phone calls i timed; and a body disappears
though no-one sees it disappear and so we practice to
praise nothing, in search of nothing. with words we tried
to spell the world that lived slightly below you, engrave it
in our hipbones so our pelvises give way. the deep heft
of your sleeping body leaves an eerie space behind
and necessary apparatus; so many times you’d ask I
mouth-to-mouth revive you, pay for each and every
breath you gulp directly from my lungs but i loved you
far too much to risk you an inadvertent possession; maybe
inhabit too much of what we kidded ourselves was your
soul. but now we all agree we let you down. like our united
selves had run out of batteries and so you made us
really pay. Forgive me for thinking that there was method
in this. It makes sense that I am mad today, because the
gateposts now point backwards; or they fell, or sank, or
were knocked over, whatever, they’re not the same now.
Your best efforts might have worked and it helps to think
that you simply rejected us; grew tired of all our little
problems, still somewhere really plucking the life, hard-
wired to someone else now who will let you gasp from
his or her mouth, with both lungs, as your exalted face, as
pink as ever, coloured with the present, you sigh back out
and maybe remember me as the breath you gave goes
back into the atmosphere and turns itself to rain that
falls on me.

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