“My chest of books divide among my friends”
Creative Strategy #9: One day we will belong to everyone
“My chest of books divide among my friends”
— John Keats
Dearest.
In the unlikely event of my demise, of course,
you get my books.
My mind of vex & giddy & horror I give back
to some twitchy drunkard in County Mayo.
Fuck him.
To the flat salt sea where nothing grows
I drop my resentment, my jealousy, my envy.
They belong there.
My bones contain the mystery marrow song of me
The misty hidden factory of red cells
A throbbing Irish dirge blown through hollow pipe.
I have no use for toes or fingers where I am going,
but I’ll keep one thumb, thank you,
I’m hitching my way up north before I leave the planet.
My butt quite frankly never was so
I would be a fool to divide nothing.
My sadness would be the first thing I’d pull off
I’d shed it like a snake
if I could.
I’m keeping my laughter & my balls
I wouldn’t know how to live without them.
My brain is hardly worth examining—
a lightning rod to bolts that flood my inner eye
The D.J. in my head who plays nonstop all day?
Take him. Please.
My spleen I leave to no one.
It should be burnt & buried like any useless thing.
My delicates I suspect would make a robust stew
for my enemies.
Eyeballs, ears, tongue & intestines—Sup away.
But I do leave my lips to the first girl who kissed them
who too must be shedding essential body parts by now. Sup, Carol?
My children are the only things I treasure.
They may keep themselves.
My heart belongs under a grey escarpment cliff
on the edge of a frigid lake, a coast of white rocks.
Still water to the horizon. My only place of peace.
With you.
Burn the rest please. Keep the ring.
—Patrick O’Leary
This stings in the right way.