06.10.04: New design. Got rid of the art and tape trading sections since I don't really trade
anymore. Lots of new poetry.
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This is no litany and
if I wanted your obituary,
I could read
the newspaper. In fact, I have
it saved under
my bed. It says that your tragic
death was responsible
for waves of racial unity
in town. It kind of
makes me nauseous.
I just thought it was
about time to
swallow my bitterness. I’ve held it tight
for too long between my
tongue and the roof
of my mouth. So,
this is an apology. I was
lying face down
in my own ashes when I
should’ve been
helping you sweep up yours and
these cigarette burns on
my wrists (a mark of
our friendship for life,
we said, clinging as we slowly fell
out of love
with the world)
still burn and ooze and
I kick the streetlight where
we used to meet
and it still sheds freezing yellow
light and the broken
glass underneath glitters obscenely.
I can’t stand the way everyone
martyrizes you in stupid death;
there are too many images of too many people
on too many
crosses
already in this world.
--Molly Herrick 11.01.02
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