Poems by Yumiko Awae
my upper lip curled up
from the heat and the
bore this man gave me
(no, not the heat, just the bore)
he's an earthquake with nasty faults
he rolls around in the
tumbled areas of the city
the people here have had enough
but the devil is quite at comfort
in the midst of disaster
his face is tiled to prevent
emotional leakage, to prevent
damage from the trampling
barking remarks of those above
his nerves prick so easily
that seeing him scared
is like seeing a string
pick up his backbones
everytime he inhales (and sometimes exhales)
as if the frayed flower petals
were taunted under a telescope
as if the words of the unholy ghosts
were tormented under a magnifying glass
as if the man-made crystals
were put to shame under a microscope
he kicked my head from stage to stage
with his new soilbreaking soccer shoes
he made such intricate diamond cuts
into my scalp that
the more pain i gained
the more shimmer it gave
i could feel the sick hurt pouring up
backward from the toilet
through the blood of mine
that poured from my cut head
the mark of the drill i
can only feel and imagine the pattern
his gangrenous breath blew
right into the cerebellum of my un-wish
and ever since i've been unable
to separate the colors of good and evil
i've been too numbed to look at him
and realize my hatred at the same time
i bled into that body as if
i were giving birth to it. at first
it started to refuse me
but it was i who had given him
that extra layer of skin and
in a way i gave birth to him.
if anybody wishes to kill him
i may again give birth
to the same life over and over.
i may give birth to him until his death
becomes right and rings fair. i spat
that blood of mine into his body
and he sucked it in like it was
his own. his body was
no longer just his, it was
ours. he shuddered as if his skin
caused an allergic reaction
to the sensation of life. his veins screaked
under him as if to tell me that
he was no longer dead. his sweat
dashed out of his wheezing pores
like tears, hot and fast like the breaths
that stumbled out of his nose and mouth
with new fervor. his memory
had been cremated with the life
that had been pulled out of his
sorry corpse and i was to be
the imprintor of his every decision
in his newborn mind.
there are these buildings that
symbolize men and women, as all
buildings do, and those that
symbolize men will always make me
want to be the statue of liberty
so i can swallow those phallic
masses of concrete. if i become
the statue of liberty i will
surround myself with the
dicks of stucco and become
the queen of new york. being
the statue of liberty i will
feel free to fuck around
with any of the steel erections
i want. i'll be such a
horny little lady, i would
let people inside me just to
have them visit my weak spots
and observe my orgasm.
under the sheet of frozen water i feel numb until comfort soothes my skin. it
ruptures from the cold that i don't recognize and blood makes a funny trail
where skaters put their pressure on the thin rink. i could look up their
skirts and noses and know what keeps them numb as well. though out of
feelings, my eyes can't keep up with the current that wraps around my nerves
like air on a windy day. the sky blackens and melts my head as i dig lower
into the bubbling ice. the sound of skates grow more distant, both from the
depth and the warmth which reside elsewhere in someone else's ears. the
bubbles become weaker and my head shivers off courage and effort. i free
myself from the echoes of those above and sink further towards the ground.
Yumiko Awae is a professional bum living in the less smoggy valley area of Los
Angeles. Her poetry has been published in a few local zines across the nation
as well as a couple of college literary magazines. She is known to her former
college creative writing professor as 'psychobitch'. Her works can be seen on
her own website at Yumiko Awae
Last Updated July 17th, 1998
For more information contact: Yumiko Awae