Litkicks Message Board Archive

Poor Sweet Beat Mr. McGill

Posted to Action Poetry

She wrote:

If and when I try to die
do not think it suicide-
more or less a love like drunk
in this shitty garbage trunk.

And I received word later:

A sullied teenage little tramp
drowned at Capote - a lake and camp -
weights in pockets in sullen swish
bloated and blue from ending wish.

With men who say:

God sorry my friend I need not know
the pain of your poor fatherly show-
a daughter that sinks in ol' Capote
with mortality wish ziplocked in her coat.

With women who say:

My dear poor sweet beat Mr. McGill
I wonder what wonder you would reveal;
Was God in her life when his baby drowned
or was she witout God in Misery's sound?

And papers read:

The once divine poet has lost his mind
from drink and a babyless sad daily grind;
his memoirs are nonsense, all that they read
are musings of baby in health shape and speed

The only paper I choose to leave:

When morning breaks in dewey Capote
I have for then this couplet I wrote;

I could not forget the things I missed
and settled the deal with a pistol and kiss.