catastrophe

anon: you're kind of being mean

spencer madsen:
I will hurt you
But it's your mistake
Your mistake
You cared so much,
You stupid,
compassionate person.

The sound of my thoughts
Is the sound of that song
Played constantly on the radio
In drugstores, clothing stores
It can't be escaped, it's now
All over Europe, and Middle East
South Africa loves it too.
So where are you going to go
What are you going to do.

Now that death is totally embarrassing.

Tonight you just close your eyes
I turn with the tides
unsure of what that means
wondering if there is enough
pancake mix in the cupboard

How close am I to losing you
if I wake up early, before you do
and make blueberry pancakes

God knows if you like blueberries.

——————————————————————

anon: no bullshit. i'm kind of in love with you.

spencer madsen:
In class. Peers. Students.
People. Professor asking
Am I convinced

Gatsby tried, I say

What more is there

What more can I ask

anyone ask.

I arrived late to class
Asking people in warm climates
if it really makes a difference
Talking to a girl
I've talked to before.

The professor references
a popular show, to show
her awareness, or relevance

“There is no god in either egg”
The only god is money”

Behind her a projector
Turned off but plugged in
And I feel like that sometimes
Or maybe something
different entirely.

“Gatsby had idealized Daisy
Which means Gatsby at least had
ideals and although its
tragic that his goal was never realized
The same is true for the other
characters that surround him.”

Or humans in general.

The problem with these classroom
walls is the white goes too far off
to this awful point edging on yellow

And these pretty girls
With thoughts and things
Daisies and Toms
Professor, a Jourdan

“Poems don't mean anything
You think it means.”

All say k

In each setting
Lucid and walled
Toweled and clean
Towers of children
Suburban in their right
Clutching their sense
All this could be yours
Someday.
Work hard.

The you you will never be
The best you you can be

Who will tell them,
if not Fitzgerald

The great comfort
is knowing yourself
as the one who will
hurt the other
in time, give it time.

Social skills inhibited
By music and books
And poems.