EG's 4/8 Poem for NaPoWriMo

BLGPM W/ DTHWSH


Take me to the library; I'm in the mood
to get murdered. Mm, murder in the stacks:
shove the LING shelving over and let those
uncracked grammars in teal and burnt umber
make papery work of the burying. Chris,
this is me courting depression, or it courting
me. I'm not seduced by death, just death's
techniques—the way it lets me let it buy me
a drink. Then drives me home with the lights
off, in stealth mode. I want that void IN me.
Speed-reading the convoluted passages
at my left brain's innermost vortices.
We vector cliffward, we pin the needle
like there's nothing more to lose than
this week's top score on Pole Position.
Fuck you, existence: I'm playing to win.