since october 1, i’ve been participating in a daily found poetry activity called the poeming. it’s an annual event where each year, poets work with one title from a selected author to write found poems and post those poems every day throughout october on tumblr. this year for the poeming iv: the peril of pike, the referenced author is christopher pike and my assigned book is “the return.” i’ll continue posting weekly round-ups here for the rest of the month, but you can read them as they’re posted by following katwiseman.tumblr.com.
10.1.19
for the wanderers of the world, may they one day remember —
not quite forty,
lost to booze
most of the time Jean couldn’t give a damn.
she’d watch the lines of ruined dreams
on her weary face.
there must be something
must be more to life
yet
she seldom smiled.
—
half hispanic, a quarter italian,
two-thirds the rest of the world.
the numbers never added up.
(311–314)
10.2.19
untitled
that evening was a warm friday
in another section of los angeles
a night reserved for celebration and
practicing safe sex.
it was the only thing
that made the clocks on the walls fun to watch.
(314–315)
10.3.19
as for the rest, she didn’t care
she had on green, coffee-stained pants,
white blouse
lipstick was cheap.
she looked tired,
standing before a mirror.
hesitation
there were all kinds of possibilities
to going out
in a cloud of smoke
(316–317)
10.4.19
midnight, maybe later
open the door
step ouside
dr(a)w in a deep breath of smog
north and south
east and west
attract the fantasy
(317–318)
10.5.19
shouting for vengeance
smoking gun and
a quart of oil
there’s too much fire in her blood.
(319)
10.6.19
nothing’s fun anymore
the moment her high began to falter
her mind plunged,
sinking into a black well.
after an hour of giggling,
she felt close to tears.
but she seldom cried.
“get real quiet,
try not to think”
she didn’t want to know
she was in a place she didn’t want to be
with people she didn’t care about and
who didn’t
care about
her.
but
that was just the way the world was.
come midnight, though…
(325–327)
10.7.19
untitled 2
i looked like hell all night
long painted fingernails,
like razors dipped in blood.
i was here to have a good time, but
in this town
someone dies
every hour.
(328)
—
poem source citation: pike, christopher. remember me: remember me / the return / the last story. simon pulse, 2010. print. pgs. 311–328.
featured image found via pinterest, source unknown.
