MY GOD
you have no idea
of the distances i would travel
just to disappoint you
i will even wear a fashionable shoe
my god
just watch me
and another? i ask
go ahead you say
and another?
no that’s too many shoes
we shout
we throw bits of the forest at the forest
we walk
the so-called trees and the sky
a so-called kite and a cloud
my god
the so-called sky but first the trees
if you hold my hand
hold my hand
it could even rain
a walk in the wet leaves
my so-called shoe comes off in the mud
my god these yellow socks
i love them
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CRISPIN BEST lives in London and at www.crispinbest.com.
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Read more by Crispin Best:
Two poems at The Quietus
Two poems in Hilda
One poem in Poems in Which
We sit and watch the chickadees in the feeder, /
drinking hot tea, a celebration of security /
with dusk’s familiar arrival.
these clouds, some /
so light I can see the sky’s //
ridiculous boundary
they don’t rise or fall. they’re framed /
on the walls. driftless syllables ornamental /
and motionless.
After I dropped her off, I lit a cigarette and blasted shit that could most generously be described as coffeehouse punk on my way out of the suburbs. I love people, but I’m also a little relieved when they go.
we are the dumpster fire we encircle to warm our greedy hands in the dark
Every fart, /
burp and feces, the body’s /
speech. What a triumph /
to royal your own musk.
I haven’t been writing really but I’ve been /
thinking about the words, “Palm Rose.”
If they would stay just where they are all morning, /
they’d be the monument to the history they’re looking for.
Rain falls on the wedding /
a hole in the church is suspected /
and the blessing jumps crazily /
from umbrella to umbrella
“You will crush our enemies or I will crush you,” the voice commanded. “These are my neighbors,” I said. “I don’t get along with most of them, but I wouldn’t want to crush them.” “It’s them or you,” the voice said.
