tim-burton-bakerRing, Ring, Ring,
Except it’s 2017 your phone is set on silent you do not own an answering machine
from the nineties, accidentally recording overheard conversations
little tape cassettes, the mechanics listening, catch you shouting
the message goes ‘don’t leave a message’ followed by alliteration
doe ray me fa la tee
people dial-in, listen, to cacophony
whose house is this? what party line? her voice can you hear
it’s someone singing in the background
taping over
you quote the silence with your abstract
lying like a fallen star on the kilim rug
the cat nudges your head he knows you are not dead
would that you could warm yourself up like leftovers
swallow whole emptiness, banish that gut of bile
back then I recorded myself, how stupid it seems now, a voice in the comforter
what did I impart? love makes us opaque, lust even more so
you used to play my voice backward and say
that sounds like Bob in Twin Peaks
Fire walk with me would look good in ink
before tattoos were mainstream, we had no money for luxury
our pockets calcified and taut turned inside out like jagged tongues
of want and want not
in the smothering green light of your bedroom
I hid the places I didn’t want you to go
pre-wax, pre-tan, prematurely ejaculate
don’t call me I won’t answer my phone
Ring, Ring, Ring,
what chime, what sound, what soundtrack
do you carry?
mine is set on mute
if you asked to speak to me I could not
form sound
would you really want to hear my truth?
every step forward chalk on my shoes
hop skip jump throw the stone
leave a message after the bleep
after the fall
I’m leaving myself a message
get up now
get out of this house
climb from the windows if you must
do it fast before you grow into a place
you cannot claw your way through
nobody knows that neighbor, the mother of four
lies prone from 9am to 3pm whilst her kids
drink milk out of small glass bottles
in her bare feet and unwashed hair
garish scarlet lipstick sliced on limp wrists
how deftly you can cover your crimes with dry shampoo and
a dusting of perfume
wiping your mouth on the back of your horror
nobody knows how long you lived
not breathing
counting pills on the convex of your emptiness
and if they came
hauled you away, locked you in a padded room
filled your arm with urinal liquid, your mouth stuffed with ‘medicine’
you’d soon find an open door, fling yourself
glorious from fifth floor like a Rorschach crow
not all are made for asylum-life
feral animals cannot endure cages
the fax machine of the past, showed us our shadow
interpreting our malady as Jung
prophesied in his hunting vest
Ring, Ring, Ring,
Schroeder and Skinner take bets
packing tape wound round their vivisection
no-one is home please leave a brief message and we’ll
lose your distinctiveness in the rollerdex
you gave me yours in a wet crumpled ball
call ME! Blondie sung
in a snug t-shirt with her head larger than her body
this year I noticed my finger tips desiccating
despite warm temperature and heirloom seeds
the doctor said
this is the first sign of albinism
drink the days to your unnatural end
of your shrinking bones witherment
breasts diminishing like deflated ardor
bellies sag,Β  lost balloons caught in oaks
and what stood proud wilts
like tulips left too long in burned afternoon sun
Ring, Ring, Ring,
I am not a girl in ballet shoes
my feet are wrinkled and cracked like a beggar
who has walked too long for his supper
I do not want to eat the fat of the land
or the dish served cold
warmed with your insincere scold
for my weakness is abundant and I
lose moisture like a white fish licking brail
dries on Greek dock where you can if you squint
almost make out the shoreline of Italy
watching boats take others far and yonder
leaving crusts of their sandwiches for birds
the fish only seeks to return
to the deep still of ocean
(what would I say if)
my doppelgΓ€nger pushed me aside and ran to answer your insistence
hello it’s awfully good to hear from you, how am I? well …
I’m fair to middling for someone with a dagger in her back
depends on your definition of
walking underwater with undertow heavy beneath feet
cue the camera, take a shot, bang, bang!
the roaming dogs pee against your leg
on the shallow side of consciousness drift in and out
my pipe is smoky and hot with chastised resin
fingers dirty, the refuge of digging for my soul
you don’t want to hear that though … do you?
no question mark intended
I know your breed your pedigree your label
just as I gnawed mine apart
wove the strands into a length of yarn
tied it around my neck and vaulted
because I am the black dog we all avoid
who shakes her wet coat over dry make-believe
the echo behind the broken cup
one piece beneath furniture, the other
still containing a leached circumstance of water
we do not sup, you and I who have sober fists
I tried, I really tried, then the day went on without me
clocks winding themselves
girls pulling up their underwear in some basement flat
overlooking a river
men taking a piss in bushes, usually reserved for perverts
watching women jog in tight shorts, bounce, bounce, bounce
Ring, Ring, Ring,
is anybody there? What do you say?
are you home? Are you sleeping?
no and no
anything but the shape of arms
making circles against bare wall
here is my crucifixion
words we never tell
are pigment
and egg yolk
and torn hose

0 Replies to “Telephonic”

  1. It’s intimidating to comment on your poetry, Candice. Not because it’s not wonderful. On the contrary – it’s magnificent and my comment will only be dull in comparison. If I may ask, where did you find a 50’s stereotype woman with an alien facehugger on her? It’s brilliant as well.

    1. ha ha ha ha! I loved that too! I think I’m getting so excited about the upcoming alien films I just had to! I found one of an alien blowing out a birthday cake too πŸ˜‰ thank you – I appreciate you writing anything. I feel very put down today as I heard from an old friend who said some things that hurt my heart about how I should not write everything and I wasn’t a good writer I know they were meant to hurt and they succeeded and I know logically I will move beyond them but hearing what you said just know also helped because like I said I was feeling pretty discouraged. So thank you

      1. I don’t know what they’re reading, but I find you to be an amazing writer. And it’s not just me – check out the comments. Some outstanding bloggers have left you some very nice comments. I get it, though. A very good friend basically said that my songs were horrid, as was my voice. It’s cuts deepest when the blade comes from a friend.

        1. A good friend really said that? See here’s where I come from. I am like most of us, a flawed person, I’d say more than most in terms of mental disease, less so in terms of bitchiness, and games. That’s my take on ‘me’ and as such, I think it’s our individual duty to act as we believe. If we think others should not treat us like shit we should not treat others like shit and so-forth. Yet despite this and despite a clear conscious by way of not treating people en mass or individually like shit, I have experienced the cruelty of friends (never strangers, telling isn’t it?) and am left with one question .. why? I was even told I was a narcissist and making it all about myself to ask why? But it’s not narcissistic to query why someone/anyone would attack someone else for no apparent reason or even, for a reason providing the other person did not cause the reason (as many times they have no idea what’s going on in other’s minds and their expectations of them). It’s the one down-side to socializing and friendships for sure. That said, I find WP to be above average in serious writers and really gifted inspiring people so I can’t complain (FB being an entirely different matter!). Thanks for saying that because today was rough, I don’t need to know I’m amazing just worth continuing and not wasting my time, mostly I need to know cruelty hasn’t become the standard! That really would sadden me. Just as your ‘friend’ telling you that, I mean there is truth and then there is spite, the two have no comparison.

          1. You know what – attacks like that are usually triggered because the person is projecting their own stuff onto you. Point a finger at someone else and three of them point back at you ! Send it back to whoever said it – you don’t have to own it xxx

  2. Very powerful and within the power is the beauty of your work. Timeless, in the sense you take us back in time, forward in time and then back to the present where we can soak in what you created and where we have been. You possess a younique mystical vision, gifted to very few. Thank you, as always!

  3. It is INSANE how much I freaking love what you write! It totally spooks me as I rollercoast through. I’m rubbernecking back to the car crash of piled up words yet still chortling along with the eeerie sound of your voice and distant lonely ringing … I read nothing like this, I didn’t know there was a ‘this’ but thank you, thank you for creating something so different, so inspiring and so You!

  4. Wow, wow, wow,… Absolutely amazing, so freaking brilliant!… I just noticed everyone else is using similar adjectives. Love this! πŸ™‚

  5. I started reading the first sentence and I couldn’t still until I breathlessly mouthed the last word in my mind. Absolutely flawlessly superb this read.

  6. How do you do this! Yes, its long. But it doesn’t matter as long as it is so amazing. This is first class poetry. Please keep writing πŸ™‚

  7. I sometimes find myself agreeing with the first comment here. There are times when I feel intimidated trying to convey what I feel about your work…but only for a brief second. Because then I remember that you are who you are and you love me for who I am and we get along brilliantly….I feel, “I love this!” isn’t enough. I feel like I need to come up with something way more impressive to say about what I’ve just read.
    But then I remember that, You know a bit more about me than the average person..and I know you can understand that “I love this” says way more to you than it does to most people I speak it to.
    <3 You are magnificent and I am so glad to know you! <3

  8. Obviously I like this a lot. The thing that is most striking is the poetics β€” it’s actually quite an aural masterpiece on top of being a thematic juggernaut. Welldone β€” you know that but I’m just saying i know it too.

    1. Wow this is super praise! I’m really glad you liked it as it sort of meant something to me and it feels good that someone I know can write well appreciates what I was conveying. (Thank you)

      1. πŸ™‚ you’re so outrageous. I feel like someone should spank you until you realize how good you are.

  9. Who isn’t? Maybe some heathen barbarian primitive β€” but assuredly not someone so posh as you.

  10. Im with that person who feels intimidated to comment. But i feel i must. This writing is differeng from others but fascinating! Its great.
    Love that line about the star on the Kilim rug. And dont listen to that person thst said you should not write. They know nothin & probably do nothing. Never stop.

    1. Shall I tell you a secret? When you say you like my work you make me so happy as I see you say it of others I think I try to make my work good enough always to pass muster! No idea why! You are my judge! Or rather, benchmark, probably because you have good taste in writing (like Christine)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.