poems and prose from  F.D. Marcél

long as it takes

when it hits my blood
it puts water under my eyelids &
echoes the remnants of happiness through
my bones &
I can’t be proud, as my pupils fade
and my voice fades and
things that have been frozen forever
melt slowly, this warmth
is fleeting, this blanket
won’t last &
you used to think I was strong when,
all along, I was stealing your oxygen
like a pickpocket, I was
pretending & my smile has never been
honest. when it hits my blood
I could be yrs but you
don’t want me.

houdini act 14

I came back to Queens with a scar on my face and Elena stood on the apartment fire escape with bags under her eyes. Three weeks gone and she fucked different. Her fingernails were in my back, her thighs squeezed tight, her voice whispered hoarsely about love and how good it felt. It made me want to drink myself to death, but I hadn’t had a drink in a year. The sex was amazing. She’d fucked someone else and found a new way to release. And I was still the same. She caught me crushing painkillers into my orange juice one morning and slapped my face with tears in her eyes. I stirred it with a spoon, staring at her, and drank it, staring at her. It was getting darker earlier in the day. Christmas was coming. In an isolated winter moment, I realized there was no shotgun at hand to discharge in my mouth so I punched the bathroom mirror and let Elena scream at me for an hour. The stomach ulcer had returned; she was making it worse. The world was an ugly declarative sentence. I pakced my bags again and left the city somewhere around 4am. I left a note. It said I was going somewhere else.

line tourist

Southern Jack used to
call it tourism, the kids w/ their
asses planted on boxcars like
it was a Disneyland adventure ride
& Jack been a yegg
since before we were born into
broken homes and orphanages
til the night I told him
the next old motherfucker
to call me a tourist would
answer for it &
I said it with my hands shaking
not remembering what pocket
my switchblade was in & Jack
broke into laughter but the other
old bo’s just stared at me
sizing me up until
my hands stopped shaking &
my stomach stopped eating
itself &
I was a bit more of a man
&
at fifteen, out there,
I had to be.

pride in others

Bottle of jack in my hand &
I know what you’ll ask me
so I
close my eyes and let you
talk but
you’re years too late &
you can’t
save yourself from me
so how
could you save me from
what’s killing me?
I love you for trying
but
I’d love you more
if one of us
could escape
and do better
somewhere else.

You left in the morning.

lithium bounce

way down cracking my teeth together
in early Oct. winds that kept my
fingertips pale
curled-together fists &
a bad throat, a bad cough
none of us had a breakfast in us
standing outside waiting for work
saturday morning yawn work
last bit of money work
Charley says fuck it all &
waits for the bar across the street
to open &
I’d rather be fishing somewhere
outside the city & upstream
with coffee in a thermos &
bedsheets warmed by whoever sticks around
they’re taking workers but I walk back west
for coffee at the diner &
conversation with the waitress.

note on the fridge

I paid for the TV so I’m taking it with me
bought extra mayonnaise
whiskey’s under the bed
left a nick of kush for you
fuck else you want from me?

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2 Responses

  1. these are great! …look forward to reading more from you soon.

  2. “long as it takes” is sharp FD and this is a killer line:

    I was stealing your oxygen
    like a pickpocket

    “line tourist” showcasing your modern hobo which you know I never seem to get enough of:

    but the other
    old bo’s just stared at me
    sizing me up until
    my hands stopped shaking &
    my stomach stopped eating
    itself &
    I was a bit more of a man
    &
    at fifteen, out there,
    I had to be.

    Nice to see you around these parts.

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