Sling Poet

Okay, can I write a poem once a week? Once EVERY week? Out of nothing? Can I trust my intuition? or hold onto an idea long enough to write? Will It Be Good? CAN it be good? But most importantly: Can I do it?

Location: Northwest Indiana, United States

15 January 2006

Black Mood Cycle

I watch my mood grow darker and darker
until the only thing to do is surrender
to my worst instincts and worst opinions
then I see her name on my cellphone
and despite what I've always told myself
I find myself calling back, hoping
to get a response.

I'm not sure what's going on,
whether I'm calling to her in growing despair
or she's calling the part of me that misses her;
either way the cycle goes in this way:
my mood goes into a severe free-fall
when she calls, and I try to get back
in touch with her.

So what's the proper action to take?
a final call to say "please stay away" would work
though it would probably cause a drop in mood
so severe as to truely threaten my life;
and while keeping in touch would be nice
I find it harder and harder to do
when I do try.

Maybe I've always been too conservative
for my own good. It's not like I don't know
how things are supposed to go, no;
but something's always told me
not to change with things are okay;
as you never know how changes will go
or whether they will.

Either way, something will have to happen
between me and her, and it looks
like I'm going to be the one doing it.
Both of us need a new start,
and it's a bit spooky having her call
in response to every time my mood
takes a dive.

08 January 2006

A 1989 Incident In Holden Hall

Sunday Night, Welcome Weekend in Collegetown
and the dorms are filled with newly minted students
about to learn that the secrets to college living
amount to liquor, sex and David Lettermen late nights;
but in a fourth floor dormroom in East Holden Hall
a freshman coed, friendly and well-liked by her hallmates
prepares a final drink to help her sleep Sunday Nights:
twenty valiums with a wine cooler chaser
make their way down to the woman's stomache.
She lies down; already she feels sleepy
as the imagines the next world to be different; and better

What would cause someone to off themselves the one weekend
so symbolically filled with the promise of a new life ahead of them?
Was she assaulted the night before and had shame filling her cup to overflowing?
Was her move completed with an unuttered exclamation of "And Don't Come Back?"
Did she have a troubled adolescence and figure the isolation from family
was what she needed to finish what she had long wanted to do?
For all we know, it may have been an accident --
A quaalude instead of a valium, or vodka instead of water
could push her over the edge without any evil or deadly intent.
It could also have been a setup; a long-time enemy following her
and feeding her stuff, proclaiming herself a friend.
Sadly, she's not around to answer that question
and we're left wondering what happened, and why...

01 January 2006

Finished Business

She finally received the booklets I ordered for her.
I had some on hand, but couldn’t give them personally
(nothing to draw me up, a lot to keep me away
and a friend I forgot to buy a birthday gift for)
so instead she got a box with a greeting of sorts inside.
Sucks, I know; but at least I got something to her.

I still have her name in my cell phone, by the way.
Not to call her, mind you, but to warn me of her–
I once erased her name from my cell phone directory
and I answered a call from her two days later, unaware.
Took two weeks to recover from that; next time she calls
I’ll spot her name on the cell and avoid the temptation.

01 March 2005

Ground Rules for this Website:

  1. Poems, once they show up on this blog, will stay up on this blog until at least the end of 2006

  2. Poems may be edited. This will be for clarity, and streamlining of language; and any changes in the meaning should be accidental.
That should be it. No need for anything else.