THESE POEMS WILL MAKE YOU SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST: POETRY BY LEAH CLANCY

“I HOPE THIS READS LIKE I AM REALLY SAD AND PRETTY” & “INSTANTANEOUS COMBUSTION MOTHER FUCKER”

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I HOPE THIS READS LIKE I AM REALLY SAD AND PRETTY

 

I want to go back to bed
because it is warmer there
What happens when you make the system
build it up
then break it?
You will lay me down like a black star in white sheets
I demand it
You, yeah you, which is cool,
because I don’t mind spending
all of my time trying to figure you out
all my money on new goods
new words, hearing everything again
that I’ve ever heard

Your neck is my neck is another
universe
we save each of the sounds
in our own pockets at the same time
and the royalty of this room
will be under our feet
I’m going to the place which
displays my language—
sweet new milky music
and I’ll use it to my advantage
left turn around a corner and
straight into nature, I want to be outside with you
and try breathing at the same time
and see who can last longer.
I’m not certain about all this

Hello, me here,
still uncertain
I need to breathe more life
into the fire of this situation
and stoke it with bedroom furniture
you could easily not care very much
and that is fine too
in that case, maybe it is I me my
who can am be there using you?
This is boring! This is a boring poem, with shitty words,
speculation, little action, no reply
this poem, man, it’s gotta die

 

 

INSTANTANEOUS COMBUSTION MOTHER FUCKER

 

I need to fire off my stupid things
my muscles and my molasses dreams
and my g­strings, pretty things
I will straight­up nuclearly fuse with you
I dont think I could spend my whole life here
or anywhere
Adrienne is a bitch
Robert is super proactive
I have adult acne
and it is so fucking dumb
I miss cartoons and I miss
being not lonely but also
with people and I just don’t
get how I ended up here on the floor—

I’ve had two glasses of champagne
and a huge crush on you
you’re the sprout, I’m the bean
and we’re all in this dirty dirty dirt
together
I hope this isn’t shit
but it is my shit, I am sure, I mean manure
or my writing

Yuck
how do I fight with the widest words
the microscopic loneliness
that I deal with
between the minutes
the infinitesimal, the small
pearls
of sweat
of time


Leah Clancy is a Los Angeles poet. ​She has previously been published on Electric Cereal, Revolver Mag, In-Flight Magazine, and more. Her previous work can also be found Potluck Mag, an online arts journal which she co-founded and edit.


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Poems curated by FORTH poetry editors.


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