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Total Noam Cunus 


I moved my arms out from under my arms 
And took it all away  
From him 
And her 
The cunts 

Oh, it was ironic! 
I was filled with nothing 
But hatred  
And love 

And love for the hatred I felt 
Deep in my heart 
No my brain, everything the brain 
I hate it 

I can’t know myself in any way 
I can’t take myself to be the one 

Dizzy in my understanding 
Of the torn-out sunk ship 
That wasted its women for nothing 
For nothing 
For nothing 
For nothing 

I am not a predator 
I have not predated 
I am not a scholar 
I have not menstruated  
I am not a person 
I have not contemp 
Lated 
Dated 
Rated 
Or considered anyone 

And eventually I was gone licked up 
By my mother 

When I did the famous tribal awakening thing 
It didn’t work 

When I did myself 
It did 

That’s cunus for you 
All gone anyway 

I could have killed her 
Don’t know what’s wrong with me 
That’s what she told me 
Apparently this man sexually assaulted his wife’s daughter 

Why did she tell me that? 

Oh well 

Only five years old 
I heard it just today 
Only a day to take 
It away from silent 
Lake toward horror 
Shake off my silent 
Silence heart I take 
Your space in mine 
Mind mind mind 

Steering towards the lime 
In the works we work ourselves 
To death death death 

If you can’t take me 
You won’t have me 
If you can’t make me 
You won’t save me 

Hope it’s not too far off 
From this, noam 
Gnome away 
Wittled down 
To noamnub 

Loamsub 

Foamrub 

I take you, I make you 
Mine alone created 
The wasted under 
Basted, shear me 
Shear me 
I am wondering why I  
Can’t do what 
I wish I  
So 

 

Noamus 


I love you so much. I don’t know you.  
I love you so much. I’m crying.  
I don’t really do the formatting thing 
With poems.  
I just do lines and  

Stanzas.  

I love you, Noam. I don’t know you.  
Is this about me? I really think I’ll cry.  
I wish I was with you. I wish you were with me.  

Just in like a friendly way.  

I want to be friends. With  
Everyone. It feels like that’s what’s  
Happening here. In 
This poem.  

Your  
Poem 
I  
Mean 

I’ve tried 
To connect with people.  
Deeply, through creating, 
Through writing.  

I don’t know if it works.  
Are we friends now? The desperation 
Is just something I feel.  

Is this a suicide?  
This desperation.  
I’m always so lonely even  
When I’m not.  

I have lots of friends, I think.  
I don’t know.  


I Peel Noam 


I peel nothing  
For no one 
I cradle curdled into 
A loam 

It’s noam 

I’m foam-noam now 
Wow, how does it go? Can you 
Tell me? Please? 

I don’t have any poison in me 
Not anymore 
I mean, not that I don’t put out. 
I have poison in me 

I bite! 
I take! 
I make & create 

I cater to you as you 
Crater me 
In your head 
As something other than what I am. 

That’s how it always goes. And I 
Didn’t know. It 
Is so wasteful full filled sloshing tipping 
Over with fear.  
Done with it.  

When you  
Said what you said about it, 
About me, 
I didn’t know what to do.  
It’s different again. 
I’m changing  
Now. Noam 

I have developed an awareness 
Of my need to perform this fervor 
And what I thought was fear 
Turned out to be excitement.  

When I thought then & there before where 
I shivered and shook and didn’t know 
What to say 
It turns out I need them all only 
Look my way… 


Beefeater Lives 


Christian: Hi Beefeater. 

Beefeater: Hi Christian. 

Beefeater, mustachioed, with a hat to hide his embarrassingly tiny horns, looks at him wide-eyed, slightly fried, since he’s been up all night waiting
for this moment. He’s brought the fruit basket along with him, and Christian is eyeing it.  

Christian: It’s a shame.  

Beefeater: What?  

I am filled with shame! Oh misery, misery! I pity thee, Beefeater. Why couldn’t you have come then once to see me, before before, when I needed you most. When I was then that tainted host — your desires, your sorrows, I’d eat them away. I’d make them my own. Oh, Beefy — so brash and bold! I wish I could hold you and make you my own…. 

Christian: Oh nothing, I’m just not in the mood for fruit right now.  

Beefeater: Oh. 

 


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