11 (Version #2)
Eleven
She tells me
She enlightens me
Leans over me
Eleven
I hardly knew you
But now we are packaged
Like frozen dinners
Eleven
I never thought of you as a figure
I painted you in my sketch book
I’m only a corpse now
Eleven
You are on my tombstone
Two erect Ones
One beside each other
Eleven
On a football jersey
On an elephant’s back
Who has been faithful
one hundred percent
Eleven
Because its dark in this night
Because I’m a sentimental
Because I count the tiles down the wall
Because I cry myself to sleep
Because no one knows the pain of the twelves
Eleven
Because you are an escape from locks
Eleven
Because you are a test
Eleven
Because you are red and blue
Eleven
Because you are dead
Eleven
Because I hate you
Eleven
Because I overcame you
Eleven
Because you beat me
Eleven
Because you are the jungle in my nightmare
Eleven
Because you last for months
Eleven
Because they have no idea who I am
Eleven
Because I watch you go around in circles
Eleven
Because I want to be with you
Eleven
Because I know you through
Picture books
And Holy flowers
And table pieces
Through television
And undeclared magazine subscriptions
Twelve
Because you are me
Because you were my life
Because they know me there
Because they feed on me there
Because you were there
Because I was shot there
Because I met you there
Because I ate sweet bananas there
Twelve
Because of the view
Because of the time
Because of the water fountains
Because of the mystery
Because of the lost
Twelve
Because of the dozen
Because of the meal
Because of the day
Because of my sisters
Because of my brothers
And the pancakes they slapped each other with
And the pancakes they cracked skulls with
And the help they have given
On dark wintery nights
Eleven
Because you said so
Because it’s true
Because it’s me
Because that’s the way things are
As I crawl up into a ball
And wish for a tap
For a rest
That you and you and you
All understand
Eleven because at eleven times
twice and no one called plus one
No one gave a shit
A flying fuck
You didn’t even know
In fact
No one knew
Except the lamppost
That groped my leg
In my crossing dream
Eleven because you didn’t know
Nor care
perhaps
Twelve because you fucked me up the ass
And made me art and poetry
And that painful word that penetrates my world
You’ll never find it here today
© 1998 David Greg Harth
98.07.27.23:42:00@NJ07430