from WOMEN
Kima akimbo as I sleep through layers of
acculturation, stoned again and shit-myself lazy; Kima
alone and walking through certain shadows of me, a
stain a cloud the minerals in our water that conduct:
have you ever starved yourself for clarity? If I stay
away from these women will I know what I want?
"Morning hair folded curtain-neatly along the daylight
of wrong potatoes."
"Asleepless with a warm-up, I would stumble even
across these messy endings out of love for you, to
kiss petal aluminium morning fades on my eyelids'
sulphur, so delicate and sore like ingrown nails.
Something in a machine that organizes violence on
language won't nap with me; it's attributable to
cascades of barometer. Renee blames me, moving on."
Renee blames both of us.
Smoke nails my eyes shut.
Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all
you see. On Valentine's day a drunk Kima needs to get
laid. She wrote to me. Vikings, vespas. A pink thunder
a cursory and impenetrable lighting. She mentions how
hard it is to know her.
The sense walking home last night on Cooper Foster
that I was trapped in a tunnel without flow chirping
like mad this morning, filling steel skies with crud.
I crawl in spaces between.
And at night the memories circle me like carrion
birds.
I'd sleep a whole mountain of you excavated next to
me, a pang at the core and blooming boo-boos, booms
and cranes, a whole crowded horizon frazzled with
impudent corpses. They don't remember my name there,
but I remember yours, Renee: trailing off like
elliptical traces of a cigarette in a closed room you
enter later, and later our history bloody from lying
between us so long it's drenched, changeable and
hereditary, wakes up into night's middle alone and
hungry for something to engulf and gorge on. That's
me, in the back in the black clothes, waving my red
flag.
"I know why she left."
synthesizer, guitar, palm pilot,
drum programming, mixing, arranging, etc.
• Chelsea
• Sisters
• cruel Girlfriend •
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lewis lacook at mp3 •
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Lewis LaCook was born in Lorain Ohio on November 5, 1970, making him a Scorpio. At fifteen he joined the
Black River Poets, and had his first published poems appear in their review. Leaving the group in his early twenties, he wrote features for the Cleveland Plain-Dealer, the Elyria Chronicle-Telegram, and the
Lorain Journal. He is currently an undergraduate English major at Kent State University.
His poetry has appeared in LOST AND FOUND TIMES, WORLD LETTER, POTEPOETTEXT, POTEPOETZINE, WHISKEY ISLAND, LUNA NEGRA, ARIEL, BLACK RIVER REVIEW, THE COVENTRY READER, etc.
Lewis is working on a long collaborative e-mail poem called OUTSIDE THE BOTHER OF SUNLIGHT with Sheila E. Murphy and a collective text called UTOPIA which features several authors, among whom are Murphy, Thomas Lowe Taylor, and John Cone. Editor of the e-zine IDIOLECT, Lewis lives in Kent, OH.
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