2 Poems by
Nathan Versaw
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Dead Composers
I sketch portraits
of dead composers
wishing I could drape my arms around your shoulders
like beige curtains in the daylight
it's Friday night I'm sure you are quite
content with life and all its magic
I hope a nice man fucks the wind out of you
and when your smoking that after dick cigarette I hope the gods
shit my image into your head
Random mental images
I stick it in my arm and
watch the blood boil over the moon
watch Sophocles steam through my closed eyelids
I let the world sedate me
I smoke weed and hope it kills enough
cells to put me on the animal field of consciousness
I don't need to know about my death
I don't want to know I'm going to die
I just want it to happen some day
without prior knowledge
I want to see the scythe and have
no idea what it can do to me
I'll look at it in bemusement
as it swings swiftly towards my neck
the tv in the room
is on
and telling the world
how magnificent and glorious you can be
just send me your fucking money
I cut and file my nails
I need to shave and bathe
and the ants crawl across the pavement
their doomed
but they don't know it
and that's all right baby
at least they can sleep at night
there must be a way to eliminate the nervous system
I would like to burn my hand on the stove
and not know it
I would like the world to be a violin concerto
or Chopin piano streaming audio divinity
forever
Ginsbergs mom had it made
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