from Human Week

it appears
Iíve grown
a sharkís fin
I circle 
but so does 
the sun
a victim of form
and fear
I must go
misunderstood
and sad
but still
human
into the cold
dark world
waiting
with a dumb
hope
for a week
dedicated
to me


 
*


 
meet me
at the theater
on the bottom
of the ocean
hold my
last thought
let me explain
more than
to be alone
is to be
at the center
of anything
the terrible eye
blind
becoming un
numb
please 
please
take me 
to where 
your thinking 
ends


 
*


 
give me
the dark
fairytales
an angel
inside me
youíd think
Iíd feel it
thrashing right
give your wolves
a rest
true stories 
always end
in poverty
take the one
weíre trapped in
your elusive love
elaborately  
engineered
impossible
to touch
a moat 
of moats
and me rowing
a small man
in a small
boat


 
*


 
we need
a new kind
of light
that no one
will write
about
something
to erase
everything
that came 
before 
time
to close
your eyes
you will 
now be shot
for writing
this poem


 
*


 
now sing
thy skinny girls
behind me
love
may come
and go
there was
the memory
in the blood
the low call
bewilderment
and later
fulfillment
there was 
the wave
that never broke
the dull blow
to the soul
your mind
riddled
with lies
the heart
with its
pretty little 
holes


 
*


 
that last one 
was called
dead bird
tattoo # 2
I too 
think 
of planks
not rotting
that first
birdís song
living
on 
in the blood
I mean
in the ink
the mind
not a diamond
for miles


 
*


 
donít tell me
the young rapper
dies
at the end
donít think
I could take it
tell me something
unexpected
like a revenge shit
showing the world
a thing
or two
about shame
but all
apologies are
boring
so shut 
your mouth
and Iíll
kiss it

________________________________________

Sampson Starkweather is a founding editor of Birds, LLC, an independent poetry press. He is the author of Self Help Poems, The Heart is Green from So Much Waiting, City of Moths, and The Photograph. He is the all-time leading scorer for the Sarah Lawrence College basketball team.