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
I went out to my mailbox. /
Everything was addressed to a previous occupant (twice removed) /
who is now, /
according to my neighbors, / deceased.
Love among unequals is not a math problem. /
Is more profane than sacred. It means /
a woman available, without joy.
As we arrived /
the red-haired children /
were it seemed everywhere staring at us /
from behind things or caught /
frozen in the open like frightened rabbits
one man dies to save the many /
to open possibilities the way /
the sun enters the court of the sky
Chinese ladybugs adapt quickly. They do not care about tradition. They undersell the French ladybugs and take over their turf. You’d think there would be enough for all, aphids being what they are, but no. Oh no.
I learn it means people prone to sadness / who develop depression, but it reminds me / of a favorite Chinese restaurant: Double / Happiness...
For hours in a small windowless freezing room, I spliced digital video and created fine fades—just so. I did not save my projects in the media bin. I did not name or save a thing.
I was having an affair with my partner’s therapist, and she was having an affair with mine.
I am a panting dog of a parent, running /
to retrieve so many arms, legs, lips, /
breasts, million nipples.
We never went to the moon. Instead we grew roses and fed our neighbor pasta and fruit salad.
