PARTATE
You loom in my mind,
A celestial giant,
And I am only an ant.
Your every breath reverberates
Within my chest.
And I wonder-
Would you even notice if I kissed you?
I am drunk in your presence,
My inhibitions washed away by your smile.
Still I won't say the words.
I know what we are.
I'll never say the words.
The gin blossoms on your cheeks,
The vodka lacquer on my teeth--
We're two drunk friends.
That's all we'll ever be.
I am content with that.
ANTAGONISTIC
Holy wildflower of my heart,
The blossom of my desire
Is nourished by the warmth
Of your disdain.
Your hair is a moonless night,
And I walk the paths of love
Without light or guidance.
Your eyes glint like emerald,
And are no softer in their gaze.
Your heart is a viper's heart,
And I am but a rabbit.
Yet for all that, I would walk into your coils
With a song on my lips
And joy in my soul.
Draw back your nettles,
Holy wildflower of my heart.
LIQUID FORTITUDE
I drink a six-pack of courage.
Even then, I can't ask you out.
LATE AUGUST
Your eyes are tracer-round fireflies,
Your motion is a circling vulture's soaring grace,
Your scent is mown grass and lilacs,
Your hair is a blooming thistle patch,
Your laugh is a midnight coyote's wail,
Your smile is the evening sun,
Your love is the slow summer's end.
THE GREATEST PICTURE IN THE WORLD
I drew you a picture.
If you could see it,
You'd love me instantly.
But you can't see it.
Because I didn't include it
In this book.
Also I can't draw.
Love me anyway?
THE THESIS OF MY LIFE
I'm gonna live hard, die young, and be remembered.
By which I mean,
Eat junk food, die bitter, and be forgotten.
FUN TO JUMP INTO, THOUGH
I'm an autumn leaf,
Rootless,
Lost in a pile of my peers.
ALSO I TASTE KIND OF AWFUL
I feel like a dandelion,
All my constituent parts scattered.
The only part of me remaining
Is my bare stem.
DRAWN BY THE AIRSTREAM
I don't say goodby.
I only drift away
Like a lost balloon.
So my friendships end.
FOR SARAMAGO
Occasionally, I close my eyes
And wonder if I'll go blind
Someday, incurably so,
And if I do, will I lose my mind?
BUCKET LIST
What would you do if you had one day left to live?
Me, I'd probably sleep.
MEGA-BLOX
Knock-off Lego:
That's how my life feels sometimes.
None of the pieces fit together quite right.
IF I GOT A TATTOO
It would be a single
Dot the size of a
.
To remind me
Of my insignificance.
I'LL SHARE WITH THE COSMONAUTS
When I die,
Burn my books
So my soul
Can read their ghosts.
Scatter my ashes in space
So no earthly ghost can haunt me.
Someday particles of my
Spirit will drift to rest,
Sprinkling a planet no life will ever reach.
TINDERBOX
Living with my parents
Is like living
With a pyromaniac,
A box of matches,
And a gallon of gasoline.
No matter what, someone gets burned.
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
I commend my legacy to my enemies,
My possessions to the highest bidder,
And my soul to whoever can find it.
For it is very small.
BFFs
I'll never be alone again,
I've found myself a friend
Named Remington.
GUIDE TO BEING A HIPSTER LIKE ME
Bulmers is the best cider in the world.
I say this because you can only get it in Ireland,
Drastically reducing the odds
You can disagree with me.
Hipster smarter, not harder.
DOWN THE HIGHWAY, NOT ACROSS THE STREET
I'll dig my own grave
And lay inside for a rest.
Suicide is painless,
I know, because I opened
My wrists with a butter knife
And watched rivulets of wine-dark
Blood stain my skin,
Tincturing the bathwater.
RESPONDING TO EMILY D.
I am
So very
Small
I am less than
Nobody.
SECRET INGREDIENT
My father and I talked little
When I was young.
Generally he'd walk in
Around seven,
Back curving like an S
From carrying shingles all day,
Or skin dusted with pink insulation
Like a prickly Hostess Snowball.
He'd grump at me
For having too many lights on-
"Don't you know that costs money?"
Or for reading in the dark-
"You'll go blind!"
But every evening
He'd heave an old
Cast-iron pot,
Black and crusty with burnt-on oil,
Onto our stove, and make popcorn
For us to share
While Mom prayed the Rosary.
We talk more now.
We understand each other, mostly.
But the popcorn I make never tastes
Like love.
SIGN OF DISDAIN
When I was young
I gave guests
The mismatched silverware
To tell them
They were unwelcome.
SUDDEN-ONSET FEAR OF MORTALITY
Helping freshmen register
As I prepare to depart forever
Is like a toddler smoking a cigarette--
Something went terribly wrong somewhere but you're not sure
What, when, or how.
These children mill about, bipedal sheep
Led to the slaughter by various guardian figures,
And I sharpen the knives,
Smiling like a Judas-goat.
Three years-maybe four-separate us,
But there's a gulf
Which yawns,
Devouring my identity.
I am an adult.
I am afraid.
SOME MORNINGS
I look in the mirror
And see my father's eyes:
Pale blue like thin ice
Over the deep water
Of his burdens,
Bitterness, and pain.
I don't want
To end up like him.
But it's too late.
A SURE SIGN OF MATURITY
Like any intelligent, mature, classy individual,
I eat Skittles
From a Norman Rockwell whiskey tumbler.
BEST READ IN A HEATH LEDGER VOICE
Want to know how I got these scars?
The dent in my forehead from a sharp-corned b
alustrade.
The raised amoeba on my knee from flag football.
The faint white burns on my forearms from playing with matches.
The pill-sized gap in my soul depression stole away.
COMBAT VETERAN
"Is this what war feels like?"
We'd go to the Cherry Creek fireworks show
And I'd stand under blooming chemical trails
With explosions thumping in my chest and throat,
Asking myself that question.
Afterward, we'd walk to Grandma's house.
You can't bring Grandma to war.
PLAYING COPS AND ROBBERS
I brought the cap guns,
And rope for tying hostages.
My cousins trussed me up
And laughed in the dark
While I bit and kicked
Like a captured orangutan.
FUTURE SIGHT
I once had a vision
Where my life stretched before me
Like a full-moon winter night-light
Where you can see for miles across bare white fields
And through skeleton trees.
My life seemed just as cold.
THE GOOD NEWS
Have you accepted Cthulhu
Into your heart?
Yes, that's right.
This whole book has been building up to a cult recruitment.
Just be thankful I didn't mention Thetans.
Whoops.
THIS IS NOT A PAGE.
THIS IS ALSO NOT A PAGE.
ESPECIALLY FOR TEACHERS
After I die,
Please let me rest.
Don't use these poems
On your English test.
They've got no meaning
For you to find,
Except in my heart
And in your mind.
What I'm saying is,
Don't even try
To teach these poems
After I die.
Seriously, I'll haunt you something fierce.
LOOK, NONE OF THESE ARE PAGES, OKAY? INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK.
FOR REASONS.
AND I RECOGNIZE THE INHERENT HYPOCRISY IN WRITING A MESSAGE ON THIS BLANK PAGE.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Greg Meyer was born in Minnesota, raised in Minnesota, and will most likely die in Minnesota. From an early age, Greg was fascinated by books, and by the age of eleven was single-handedly responsible for 42% of withdrawals from the local library. Inspired by Christopher Paolini's Eragon, Greg decided he could do just as good a job of writing high-fantasy Star Wars. He couldn't. But from then on, he was hooked. He's written fiction ever since. After a short stint in technical school, Greg wound up with a Bachelor's in English from Gustavus Adolphus College, completely undermining the college's standing as a reputable college and not a diploma mill. While at Gustavus, Greg was repeatedly published in Firethorne, the college literary magazine. This lapse in editorial oversight encouraged him, to disastrous results.
Greg's writings can be found in Firethorne, this collection, and online at cthulhuwept.com. He regrets choosing that as his domain name because it's not exactly easy to tell someone about.
If, for some inexplicable reason, you would like to contact Greg, he can be emailed at cthulhuwept@gmail.com. Signing him up to receive pictures of cute baby animals is considered an acceptable form of communication. His password is not the one on his luggage. Nor is it "Password."
EXTRA-SPECIAL POEM AT THE END
I word good
Like I use to could.