Mercy

I don’t use words

like mercy,

or love, or death.

I use hate

only

on special occasions,

never when I feel it,

that’s easy like

clickbait.

 

I see these types too often,

the types that remind me of

yearbook photos

from 2010.

the types

on computers

in high schools

at lunch,

jacking it.

Writing poems about angels and devils

living inside of pronouns like amber. 

 

Teachers don’t tell young writers

that love and death and sex

doesn't fit neatly into pronouns

that refuse to divulge their subject

because they don’t exist.

Bukowski would tell you to sleep with women

on couches older than he is,

and he died in 94.

Shakespeare died in 1616,

who cares what he had to say.

Fante wouldn’t tell you anything,

Fante would simply combust

like a aerosol can

in the desert.

 

We

need

less

time,

and a thesaurus.

 

Words and lives refuse

to dry themselves.

 

Me in the shower,

5’9.

you,

5’4

in my socks

saying something

without looking at me. 

Reviews

[mercy party]

Nice! a sign of good a writer is if they can pull off personal and universal at the same time. The word clickbait kept me interested early and im glad i continued on. Best read so far.

[S Olson]

"Me in the shower,
5’9.
you,
5’4
in my socks
saying something
without looking at me."

I found this poem beautiful, but that stanza especially. There's something very intimate about it - as though it has its own emotion. It seems to almost personify itself.

Well done