N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 0 9

BRENDAN KIRK

observations written today

i.

teacher from the tonguey fringes of history

strange cowboys of the night

wreckless and

afraid to think

tightness looking for attention

children born into charisma and innocence

with large eyes

tabulating the costs

and sleeping at night

quiet corners

where quiet children hum to themselves

and talk to themselves

and dream

young men

a red head

who writes poems

wants to be out west

but to make mommy proud

stays in school

unhappy beings who think of death

young beauty

who spends money on clothing

to look the part

another young beauty

who talks when asked not to

because she is young beauty

girl drawing fairies with pencils and papers

wearing corset because she likes the way it looks

young man singing in the hallway

kids out there in the rooms working hard for numbers

who want to go to good college

make good money

have good spouse

have good death

other kid who wants to find reason in all of it

small string of girls who accept an alternate

young man with kittens

who comes with eyes of fire

looking to prove something

conglomerations of minds in the distance

slowly tapping their feet to pass time

hardcore group of cannibalist females

copying each other

and eating stray bits of flesh left on the floor

dropped by those who realized it was not worth it

bizarre girl with glasses

who likes being bizarre girl with glasses

boy with shaved head who likes bizarre girl with glasses

because she likes being bizarre girl with glasses

boy with long black hair

quiet with precision

young man who sells small bags of reefer

and buys an image shaded in sunglasses

young girl listening to music in mind

writing down work with her hand

fidgeting her feet

waves of backbone

rising through the root

and into alternate state of consciousness

boy telling everybody what they want to hear

girl hoping for subtle satisfaction

in her work

young boy wishing to be man

and to bang on chest

and to eat hamburg with beer

and to have sex with wife

and to teach children how to tie knots

slow words of children sitting in desks

with light eyes

and none really want to be here

and i don't want to be here

and i am here

and i don't want to be here

this mess of hemispheres

who are not finding the point to this craziness

who have realized that it is all just some words

and that it is all just some words

some words

ii.

soft sun rises from line of trees

chirping of distanced bird through ears

still a snap of chill in the air

it will be warm soon

deer across the drive

silently

eyes closed

iii.

men with faces of stiletto

shaded voice

long pony-tail

who at poetry workshop

tell old ladies how to make poems better

i do not understand that ts eliot poem

sorry mother i may have to disappear for a while

my mind is wet

and to write it hurts

should i cut my hair?

or just go with this next wave of counter-culture

bound to come

and bound to whittle and to end

because drugs bring pleasure

and nobody wants to talk anymore

and being radical is cliché these days

apparitions of souls gliding reflections over shallow pools

iv.

i get drunk and talk to friend about life

i remember when i wake up

and feel enlightened

then forget it

v.

my bed smells of sweat

mother there is a bottle of whiskey in the drawer where i keep my shirts

vi.

old men seek simplicity

young men to be known

mark twain writes something about it i think

and i learn more from paperback novels and smoking marijuana than school

a few of my favorite people are dead

is there inspiration in the wind?

or am i just too young

is the answer in shroud?

what is to be healed?

vii.

odd children caring for status

in the lunch-room

moving in for a proper 'hoooo'

looking into the stars

i am young i am young

i shall walk off when the weather is warm

and when i hear the chirp of a bird

i shall myself sing

sun ap 19

i.

there is less to be said

of a flower

when the buildings inhale

and a girl with shaven head is beautiful

and she never looks at me

the man's directions

leading me to stains on side-walk

sleeping

ii.

i say give me illumination

and fuck truth

i don't want to understand it when it comes

i want america to give me blow-jobs

ginsberg said smoking cigarettes is capitalist joke

i'll keep giggling with my hand out window

let me serve lies to all of your mothers

and never tell them

when they spit up your carcass

and slap me across the face

because i try to eat it

what a conversation

when i don't look

at the stars

because they are full of bullshit

and i want to eat them

and new york city

i want to have sex with

and then eat

whitman said city of orgies

show me

you bearded poet

iii.

i came out naked seventeen years ago

and i want to see everything naked

i will lick all the scars

and keep your wounds open

i'll peel off all paint

from the villages

so they can be naked

and i can have sex with dirty windows

and the inside can revolt

iv.

i am made of water