Issue Two - Mary Panza
This is Not an Angry Poem
barren alleyways full of city laundry
This is a poem about Liberation: Mine from you
An actor once said “There is a fine line between being a
perfectionist
and a
cunt” You my friend have taken your
Enlightenment
And became a
Cunt
Butt
This is not an angry poem
This is not a three page, first thing in the morning poem
If I did three pages first thing in the morning
I’d have a Urinary Tract Infection
This, my boy is the poem I have been trying to write for
Weeks
The reason I wouldn’t touch your penis
Wasn’t because I was abused
It was because every time you opened your mouth
I stopped being interested
Butt
This is not an angry poem
This is my liberation from people like you
People who are too good, too enlightened, too humorless
To say hi in cafes, who preach poetry and spoken word
Hell, even charge a fee for a literary colonic
Butt
Your poetic ass slams shut when a gay man speaks of his Queer
fantasies
Or some great looking girl with a classic Renaissance figure and
fantastic
shoes
Likes to say Fuck
A lot
What the hell is this?
Don’t ask don’t tell
Butt
This is not an angry poem
If I hated you that would make me you
Screw that
I can’t think of anything worse except
War, poverty, pain, suffering, death
You know, thing that really matter
Not you
You are not the fight
You are the gum on the shoe of the fight
This is not that angry, fuck filled poem you expect
This is my joy
I don’t ever have to be with people like you again
You are never wrong
Your shrink told you so
The world sucks for all of us
There just are varying degrees
It doesn’t owe us, we owe it
Thank You
This is a Thank you poem
Thank God I am not going to end up with someone like you
This is not an angry, rage filled, fuck you
This is a joyous, bathed in the pink light of love
B almost a C cup, small waist
Full, full hipped
Fuck You
This is not an angry poem
This is just a poem
The one I have been trying to write for weeks
I Am Dreaming of London
And the saddest music ever
I dream of the city in Wim Wenders
Perfect
Black and White
Angels in Long Black Coats
Accents
Listening to my thoughts
I am walking past pubs and cafes
Long Black Coat
Looking Overhearing
My opinion of
Volvos has changed
I no longer think they are very
Safe
Cars
I Am Dreaming of London
Long Black Coats
Cigarettes
The Resurrection
Only a few days away
He will suffer
Die
Be Buried
And on the Third Day
I will be walking on a London Street
Away from everything
Seeing things in Wim Wenders
Perfect Black and White
Until I her say
“It is Spring”
And only then do I
See
Color
Depth
Texture
I take off the
Long Black Coat
The Armor
I don’t need it on the streets of
London
I am alone
Always
Alone
In the dream
Walking the talk
Past pubs and cafes
Longing Restless
Looking for something someone to fill the space
Between
Cement it closed to keep out things
It shouldn’t want
Trouble Desperation
Sad princes and their tales of
Woe
Be easy I say
There is nothing worth stealing in here
I will gladly give it up without a fight or fuss
All hope and agenda
While waiting for the light to change
I Am Dreaming of London
Long Black Coat
In Wim Wenders
Perfect Black and White
...And You Missed
I have seen that face before
Many many years ago
It was your voice that first made me remember
Sweet talk Tears
Appealing to my ever Fragile sense of Vanity
I Love that
I find it
Beautiful
I have seen that face before
Laying on my side Post-Coital
For that moment Captured
I was at peace
Wanting for nothing
Restlessness gone
The space between full of Promise
Not for a next time Butt of going the distance
Done
I Close my eyes and dream
Anguish of unreturned phone calls
The word
BULLSHIT
Has not crossed my lips for hours
It was enough for now that I have seen you like
This
That face You’re broken Whiney Heart Resembling Boiled Meat
You defend her honor like Brando
She is a noble soul
BULLSHIT
Finally makes its way into the conversation
I have a testicle collection I tell him
I was that girl before I was cold and calculating and wrong nd I did
it
anyway
I am not an innocent or a victim
And Neither is she
I am a ball breaker Trying to find redemption And a sense of home
I have seen that face before
How could you
It says
I did it anyway I have preyed on the hearts
Of weak weak men
I Am Only Selectively Sorry