I Woke Up

steampunk-eye

steampunk art

I Woke Up
By Jameson Fitzpatrick

and it was political.
I made coffee and the coffee was political.
I took a shower and the water was.
I walked down the street in short shorts and a Bob Mizer tank top
and they were political, the walking and the shorts and the beefcake
silkscreen of the man posing in a G-string. I forgot my sunglasses
and later, on the train, that was political,
when I studied every handsome man in the car.
Who I thought was handsome was political.
I went to work at the university and everything was
very obviously political, the department and the institution.
All the cigarettes I smoked between classes were political,
where I threw them when I was through.
I was blond and it was political.
So was the difference between “blond” and “blonde.”
I had long hair and it was political. I shaved my head and it was.
That I didn’t know how to grieve when another person was killed in America
was political, and it was political when America killed another person,
who they were and what color and gender and who I am in relation.
I couldn’t think about it for too long without feeling a helplessness
like childhood. I was a child and it was political, being a boy
who was bad at it. I couldn’t catch and so the ball became political.
My mother read to me almost every night
and the conditions that enabled her to do so were political.
That my father’s money was new was political, that it was proving something.
Someone called me faggot and it was political.
I called myself a faggot and it was political.
How difficult my life felt relative to how difficult it was
was political. I thought I could become a writer
and it was political that I could imagine it.
I thought I was not a political poet and still
my imagination was political.
It had been, this whole time I was asleep.

Source: Poetry (January 2017)

Jameson Fitzgerald © Jacques Servin

Jameson Fitzpatrick © Jacques Servin

 

 

Jameson Fitzpatrick teaches Writing at New York University(NYU) in New York City

Remembering All Lost to Terrorism

For All of Us Who Are Different – Who Do Not Fit [ I know I keep changing – Couldn’t possibly comply] – Please Stop Trying to Destroy Us – We No Longer Will Be Invisible and Quiet Ever Again – Stop Trying to Make Us Live by Rules that Shouldn’t Exist [it’s an extensive list] – Stop Trying to Attack & Kill Us – Being Different Is Exceptional – We Are Different – Brilliant! – Viva la Différence! – kiley

Created with Microsoft Fresh Paint

flowing scarlet © kiley 16

SLITHERING
by kiley

We look for reasons
Where there are none

We categorize people
When it makes no difference

Not one thing makes someone kill
They are not mentally ill

Violence is a whole different thing
It isn’t one chime with one single ring

A soul makes a deal with rules
Others forced to join him on his kill

Innocents must die as a sacrifice
To drown out the demons in his heart

Hatred overpowers what’s living inside him
It satisfies – it justifies

His consciousness is abandoned
Voices from the dark occupy him now

‘Kill the infidels – kill the faggots
Kill the aliens corrupting the world’

Feeding his kingdom with blood sacrifice
Cleansing his world with destruction and hate

The killer obsessed – filled with hatred building
His eyes only see a cry for the slaughter

When he’s done with what he’s done
It’s time to exit – by bullets or bombs exploding

Stealing answers – secreting away the motives
Leaving behind bloody red pieces – a bizarre puzzle

We need revelation’s purpose
Hoping for visions – the clarity of secrets

Writing stories – organizing pieces
It’s what we think should be done

Gradually closing down the nightmares
Ignoring awareness – that others will come

Different locations – unknown and random
One crushing blow follows another

Inside Time – the future waits
The unpredictable guaranteed it will happen again

Invisible the next creepy crawling creature
Slithering from out of any shadow

© kiley 16
Lesbian in Solidarity

Posting on ‘the secret keeper’ simultaneously