The work, the sheets,
God knows how many prior years,
And your hair, love, and small pocket change:

There is no truth that quick,
No deeds that tear nothing fist-still.
The evil has been wiped up;
She left me and
Dry, relative notions

Gave everything back in spades;
Therefore, this poem referees life.
Smile, Lora, start ironing,
Feed me metal filings:
I will cast them into whatever passes for pencil lead
And watch the weaseling across the page.

Have you damaged your body?
Have you tried to hypnotize yourself?
Have you implanted yourself?
Have you tried to destroy your mind?
Have you inflicted pain on yourself?
Have you tried to wipe out your personality?
Have you become addicted to drugs or alcohol?
Have you felt that the world or others would be better off without you?
Have you tried to extinguish yourself?
Have you made nothing?

Hold these thoughts like axes and mope:
It is all ridiculousness;
You will wait forever for this moment to happen again,
But by then the sun will have gone all the way down.

~ Carl James Grindley: East Haven, Connecticut | The Brooklyner

About Carl James Grindley

View all by Carl James Grindley
Carl James Grindley
Carl James Grindley grew up on an island off the West Coast of Canada, and studied in the US and Europe. He has taught creative writing at Yale University, and works at The City University of New York. His book Icon was published in 2008 by No Record Press. He has recent work in Apocrypha & Apostrophe, Anemone Sidecar, A Bad Penny Review, Atticus Review, and The Nervous Breakdown. Grindley is a founding editor of The South Bronx Review.

It’s Darkness He Wants (Audio)

   

It’s Darkness He Wants

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