An Old Poem I'm Posting For A Friend To Read

may6.doc

(a litany)


I want to be the bed
i want to be the front door
i want to be the collective garbage in your house
i want to be the hot water heater


your kitchen sink
your bathroom tub
your brand new office window
your new and improved CPU with a million monkeys typing for a million years sending up pages of an owner's manual with maintenance tips and diagrams outlining all your ifs ands or buts


i want to crack your skull
i want to crack your code


(I want you to want to crack my code to want to decode and recode....)


your sure thing
the love of your life
read my diary and steal my letters
i want you to want to
i want to catch you in the act

i want you to light up when i walk in the room
i want to be the centerpiece
the centerfold
the sports channel
the remote control
i want to be the button you push over and over and over and over and over

i want everything you're not saying seven times seventy to the nth power
i want to crawl inside you
i want to press tears out through your eyes
spit through your ears
teach you to whistle from the inside out
i want to shuffle the lines on your palm
i want to slip my foot into your Achilles heel
i want my thumbprints on each sole

i want to be your brother from a past life
i want to be your faithful companion Tonto Friday Watson Pavlov's dog
i want to run around in eternal circles with you and write a long, long story longer than 99 years

give up my connections
give up my ghosts
i want cosmic reprieve for good behavior
i want to finish your sentence

i want to scare you
spin you close to the edge
shake your faith
give you the heebie-jeebies
make you shift in your seat
i want to make you sweat under my hand-held, thermo-nuclear flashlight
i want you to spill the pinto beans
i want you to make a run for it


i want to be the one you reconsider


i want to be your baby
i want to be your keeper


you can change your name
use my superhero alias
use my lucky brass elephant to double your winnings

for you i'll grow my mind
for you i'll change my schedule
for you i'll switch it all to a new account


be my nosy neighbor
be my crazy cousin
be my girlfriend
be my younger sister
be my drooling cat
be my favorite pen
be my italian poet
be my greek philosopher
be my rosetta stone
be my captured alien
be my angel gabriel
be my angel


i want you to take everything

i want you to take my blond hair, my red hair, my black and blue shins, my scrubby elbows
my false eyelashes
my broken watches
my mismatched socks
my missing keys
my bad vision
my gold ring
all my sundays
all my 15 minutes
all my B-grade poetry
all my highwire-walking, tap-dancing, chainsaw-juggling words for i love you

i know the three secrets:

i know your eye color
i know your secret name
i know your real shoe size


(do you want to know the three ancient gestures that will hypnotize me into believing
i'm your muse?)



give it up
surrender
name rank serial number
IQ and blood pressure
lotus inside lotus inside lotus
peeling off leaf after leaf like a cabbage
four cabbages, really maybe five, maybe a dozen, maybe a dirty baker's dozen

maybe a stinking, dirty, rotten baker's dozen of stolen purple cabbages

i want them all
i want everything

i want everything stolen, stupid and silly that belongs to you, that always belonged to you, that you borrowed, that was pushed onto you, that your god didn't want, that your goddess threw back, that she stole from you, that she never asked you for....


all that

i want it all
i want to be it all
i want to be the one standing across from you
i want to be the one you keep in your peripheral vision
i want to be the holy cowgirl
i want to be the girl from outer space
the girl in the photo
the girl in the song
the girl that got your number
the girl that got your goat


i want to be the girl that got to you first

i want to be the one that got to you first

i want to be the one

i want to be the one

i want to be the one.



- Josette Crosby Plank

(...that's me!)

17 comments:

TwoBusy said...

That may be the single greatest love poem I've ever read.

Spectacular.

sweetney said...

What TwoBusy said. Holy shit, woman. You made my heart beat fast. I want that. I want that. (shhh, but I think I found that. hush!)

Mandajuice said...

That poem was a lot of things, but it sure as hell wasn't "B-Grade."

Beautiful.

corina said...

Breathless. Completely and utterly floored me.

A Vapid Blonde said...

That is leaving me speechless and wishing I had written it.

sweetney said...

Yes, I'm back again.

Bookmarking, printing, reading and re-reading. You nailed it. You fucking nailed it.

Thank you so much for posting this for me. Thank you.

Kath said...

Oh my...

T. said...

This? ranks up there with my favorite love poem...yeah, I have a weird sensibility:

First Person Demonstrative

I'd rather
heave half a brick than say
I love you, though I do
I'd rather
crawl in a hole than call you
darling, though you are
I'd rather
wrench off an arm than hug you though
it's what I long to do
I'd rather
gather a posy of poison ivy than
ask if you love me


so if my
hair doesn't stand on end it's because
I never tease it
and if my
heart isn't in my mouth it's because
it knows its place
and if I
don't take a bite of your ear it's because
gristle gripes my guts
and if you
miss the message better get new
glasses and read it twice -- Phyllis Gotlieb

Neil said...

Like a modern Song of Solomon, without all the pomegranates.

Marmite Breath said...

As usual, I'm reading what you wrote, wishing that I wrote it.

Momma Star said...

Screw sonnets; you get free verse.

julia said...

Dang. Damn. Wow. You're excellent.

Amy said...

Spectacular. Bravo!

apathy lounge said...

You've just said it all!

Variations On A Theme said...

I love this!!!!!!

D.B. Echo said...

J. F. C.

Wow.

This makes me want to go out and take pictures. In black-and-white. Maybe a hundred thousand photos will be sufficient to distill out something worth residing on the same piece of paper, or the same plane of existence, as this.

essay writing uk said...

I think some poetry types are specific to particular cultures and genres, responding to the characteristics of the language in which the poet writes

Blog Ping