As/Is







10.10.2011


New Apparition Poems (Adam Fieled)


#261

Never one to cut corners about cutting
corners, you spun the Subaru into a rough
U-turn right in the middle of Old York Road
at midnight, scaring the shit out of this self-
declared “artist.” The issue, as ever, was
nothing particular to celebrate. We could
only connect nothing with nothing in our
private suburban waste land. Here’s where
the fun starts— I got out, motherfucker.
I made it. I say “I,” and it works. But Old
York Road at midnight is still what it is.
I still have to live there the same way you do.


#420

The Junior Prom deposited me (and fifteen
others) on the floor of her basement. I could
barely see daylight at the time, and at three in
the morning I began to prowl. I was too scared
to turn on any lights. She emerged like a mermaid
from seaweed. I needed comfort, she enjoyed my
need. We had gone out- she was bitter. The whole
dialogue happened in shadows. No one was hooking
up in the other room, either. You spiteful little princess.


#160

Your skin sags around you like an old lady’s
pink jowls. You used to live a dynamic double
life, with constituents coming out of your ass
from three schools (this is when we were kids).
No one anywhere knew quite who you were.
Now, I hesitate to state anything for the record
these guys are recording. The whole process
creeps me out. I sat in the back of the Subaru
while they egged somebody’s house, or he took
a handful of CDs from Tower Records, placed
them under his sweater or into his boxers.
What I tell them is the truth: there was too much
in you that you never even knew about. You were
a mystery to yourself. You were the kid at the
bowling alley trying to hook up with the twins,
or the obsessive devotee of another head-case.
Now, I’m a head-case who knows the same thing
is true about me, and if my skin is tautened it stings.