B. Dolan, “Kate”
Following up on the previous post, about B. Dolan’s poem “The Skycycle Blues”, here I want to post the video for my favorite poem of all time, along with the lyrics since I can’t find them anywhere online (and since… the spoken-word version has a lot of screaming/noise, so, reading words at your own pace may be more palatable?). Before I heard this poem I had never heard anything like this, and I haven’t heard anything like this since, honestly. sui generis.
I know myself, even better than Jesus does.
I stole from churches. I owe god money.
There was a girl with no gag reflex,
And a summer with no idea.Stealing, to buy drugs with Kate.
Who needed her smokes so much more
than the pope needed another painting in the vatican.Days in the warehouse, waiting.
Katie, and the baby, and Katie.On my lunch break, alone,
us, just wanting to be alone,
her nature versus nurture.
She was wild, she was like a berserker fairy.
Her breath, sweetened with nicotine tar and tension,
tension and touching behind backs,
whispers in the house,
excuses for the dark,
hands for flesh…
And the most realest despair in the whole wide universe.Her parents were always home and never around.
Just like her live-in-addict-accidental-baby-daddy.
His name was Adrian.
He used to stab himself in the leg with darts for attention.
I used to watch it all go down,
and want her.I used to feed the baby,
and try to come down.I was eighteen, she was seventeen.
I was into drugs, she was in love.
It was all… all about me, as always.She heard my first poem.
All summer we went to cemeteries to smoke.
That’s where I learned,
to open the box in my throat and sing the blues,
all over, but mostly in cemeteries.
All of life lived in me.
I brought it to Katie,
and Katie brought life herself, at seventeen.
Seventeen.
She loved iced coffee.
She loved me.
She loved her daughter.
She loved her stories.
She loved everything,
and wanted only to love.
I made her write it in a journal.And why is it,
that when I wanted women to inspire themselves,
and come alive,
and write their fire into books,
and bleed like this for themselves and be,
here, like I got it see, it’s not hard,
you can do it, you should do it,
more, more, did you? yes, good,
why is it, that they never did,until I kissed them?
And then, they would write shit about me.
Which is not what I wanted.
But was fun.
And suddenly fed me.So I’d forgotten where I was,
which was,
in the pages,
getting tattoed down,
waiting to be turned over.Making the mistake.
Feeling her in the dark.
The shock of her smell,
the strength of her hold on me,
like we forget how to do when we get older.
Seventeen.
She had a grip like her baby.Was she thirteen? Or fourteen?
When one of the Falco brothers,
laced a joint with PCP.
Her and her cousin.Katie couldn’t move
while he _____ her.
Her cousin couldn’t move
while she watched.For god’s sake.
Please.
For the love of all time and space.
In this life and the next.
From heaven and hell.
By any power that possibly exists.
By every force of compulsion in the universe.
god…FUCK the Falco brothers,
god HATE THEM,
god DESTROY THEM BEFORE ANYTHING LIKE JUSTICE CAN EVER EXIST!
THE MOTHERFUCKERS WHO GAVE ME MY FIRST PUNCH IN THE FACE,
WHO LAID, LIKE THE JACKALS OF CHAOS, OVER THE BEDS OF ANYTHING GOOD!
THIS IS A HUMAN CANCER, LIVING IN THE SHADOWS OF A GHOST TOWN!
DEMANDING INNOCENCE OFF OF PEOPLE LIKE LUNCH MONEY
LATER ______ IT OFF THEM, JERKING IT OFF THEM, STRIPPING IT OFF THEM, STEALING IT OFF THEM,
MULTIPLYING AND THRIVING UNTIL AN ENTIRE GENERATION OF SMITHFIELD GIRLS WAS GONE!
GONE!
GONE!GONE, DOWN THE PATHS IN THE WOODS,
GONE INTO WHATEVER TRAILER HELD THE GREAT NIGHTMARE OF LIFE THAT NIGHT!JESUS CHRIST!
SMITHFIELD SCREAMS TO ME
LIKE AN OPEN MOUTH
FILLED WITH BLACK MUD,
RUSTED IRON GUMS,
GRINDING GEARS FOR TEETH!IN MY DREAMS,
HANTON CITY IS THE MONSTER OF TIME,
THE HEAVY FIST OF THE ALCOHOLIC-DEATH GOD,
BLOATED WITH THE BLOOD OF MY LATE FATHER,
STILL HOLDING HIM IN ITS JAWS, GRINNING LIKE A FALCO,
AMONG ALL THE OTHER BODIES IN ITS BASEMENT!MURDER!
MURDER!
MURDER!
SO MANY GIRLS!
WHERE THE FUCK WERE THE PARENTS?
WAS EVERYONE INSANE?THE KIDS!
THE KIDS!
THE KIDS!
THE KIDS ALL AROUND ME GETTING LAID TO WASTE!JIMMY RICHIE TO LONELINESS AND HIS MOTHER’S MESS,
THOMAS KUSZKA TO LIES AND PRESSURE,
JOHN TO SOME IDIOT CHURCH,
JOHN PAUL TO LEUKEMIA,
DOMINIC, PULLED AWAY FROM US
BY DIVORCE MONEY AND CONTEMPT,AND MIKE CARDIN,
MIKE CARDIN,
MIKE CARDIN WITH NO EXCUSE,
MIKE CARDIN WITH NO MERCY,
MIKE CARDIN MY BEST FRIEND.MIKE CARDIN TO BUTLER HOSPITAL.
TO BUTLER HOSPITAL.MIKE CARDIN TO BUTLER,
TO BUTLER, TO BUTLER, TO BUTLER, TO ME,
TO THE PILLS, TO THE PILLS, TO THE PILLS, TO ME.TO DEAD MUSICIANS! DEAD HANDS! BIG BROTHER!
TO THE BOOMING “FUCK YOU!” FROM THE SKY!
TO THE INEVITABILITY AND THE SIMPLE SURENESS
THAT LIFE DOES NOT WANT YOU, WILL BREAK YOU SOON!
IT WAS MUCH TOO MUCH FOR YOU TO EVEN TRY,
MIKE CARDIN,
THE PERFECT,
INEXPLICABLE,
AND ETERNAL,
FAILURE.Who lives to this day.
I have seen him just this year.I know that Katie lives too.
I know that Rena lives with her.I pray that Adrian is gone.
And that Rena was never old enough to remember him.I know that Rena was never old enough to remember me.
I hope she has seen a picture of me holding her.I have a picture of her, in my wallet.
Last month, for a couple of weeks,
I forgot the name of the baby in my wallet.The baby’s name is Rena.
I know that I will love them both until I die.
I went back to college and dropped out.
Katie went back to figuring things out,
but was missing me.I couldn’t miss her back,
for a while.Now things are slower.
I know Katie doesn’t fuck with drugs anymore.
I know I mostly don’t either.I’m sorry for everything.
Kate.
Rena.