ISSUE 4: SUMMER 2016 / LOS ANGELES POETS / POETRY

“In Damnation, A Poet is Born” by Brian Andrade

BY BRIAN JOSEPH ANDRADE

 

Brown skin
                 Stitched
by neon veins, pulses
and breaths,
bruises and scars.
A puppet of flesh
                         strung
                                         by invisible
                                                                   forces.
Made of nothing,
but spilled ink
on paper. Vomiting odes of
anti-christ,
ballads of oral sex.
Stardust molded
to bone,
torso,
twenty-one years
of fucking and crying
drinking and whining
writing and dying,
of Christians, of drunks,
of no one but me,
no voice but mine
no touch but the wind;
whispers of a dead friend.
                                                          (Cancer’s a bitch)
A poet
scared to write,
scared to suffer.
To recall a drunk father,
heartbreak from one-sided sex
depression in bible verses,
scared to greet his loneliness
creeping at him,
after every
                   finished
                                      stanza.
In damnation,
a poet is born.
But, the timid hands strays,
because, no one
likes sad
poems
anyway.

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