I.{the neuroses}

I.{the neuroses}


spinning fast enough

to shred tendons like

rope left cliffside after a

a fatal equipment failure

the blades of the open fan

speak some awful temptation

to stick my fingers in

after the tendons, the bones

would be treated like toothpicks

in a hydraulic press

the pain would be immense

you would pass out

awake to more pain

but at least it would be a sensation

occasionally, I fear that when I

close the hood on that fan

I’ll actually do it; the blood

would turn the outside of the fan

into a crimson blowhole

spewing blood and effluvia of calcium

down from the third floor.

it’s a neurosis, a tic in a sense, borne of a heart

numbed in its romantic sensibilities

even with a pounding systolic humanism.

a heart that knows love so well,

that it sometimes

envisions the hand

churning through those blurred fan blades

dumping human fertilizer onto the flowerbeds

down below my kitchen window.

*I often find myself laughing at myself for all the weird little neuroses that swim around the fishbowl of my head. Most of them just remain haunting looped thought patterns that make me feel crazier than any of you might realize, a sociopath of sensitivity in some odd way. So, I decided I’ll write about some of them and put them into a series of poems, thus the name ‘the neuroses’, which was partially inspired by Erik Satie’s “Gymnopedes”.


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