Two Poems by EC Schulman

Two Poems by EC Schulman

No More Teenage Poets

“Il suffit que je sois bien malheureuse pour avoir droit a votre bienveillance”

-The Death of Marat, Davide

 

Thats not what I meant at all

I mean, it was a fever dream and rotting slowly

fat kitsch post weimar gristle

Few arrows through 

Long arrowheads flew, as the roof comes off

Too far the eye had reached, Nervous, twitching, green, sickly, coughs

Cold grip relying on the grace of upperclassmen

How long is night?

Where does the fog go when it leaves?

Words of love are empty demands

Nous sommes tous des Juifs allemands

Boy with machine, give me fear and enjoyment

I want you to know that I’m not here

Skin itching

Could you stab me while I bathe?

Resistance is futile

Ending necessarily beautiful, tactile

“That’s when I reach for my revolver”

Clown on the road, dynamite black sea empty sky as I follow her

Drifting through horrors

Anti-midas,

I appear as mule, segue into man

I look through magazines about kitchen appliances

Can two commodities love each other?

Please stop writing about culture

 

dreams of bourgeois living

As it was

Last february

In the sunshine and the fog

Living, breathing like a wolf

Slowly bleeding like a dog

Bad teenage poets

Bad new things

As the good old ones

Ride off more quickly

Into the blue unknown

Cancel your debts

Live like a Manson

As the soviets keep on

Keep on

Keep on marching in

Stop singing as you walk along

Stop living like an alternative 

To what, some faux bedroom pop

Teenage commodity screaming dream scene

Leave me in the corner

Remaining in the shower

To get clean

Did they tell you?

About Sade or Kant?

Did they kill you while blushing?

Did they take you to the bank?

Digitally erotic in a near collapsing world

Too much, paid to dance

Living in the background of someone else’s nightmarish dopamine trance

Withdraw, finally

Triplet fantasy

Bleeding out in a back alley

In the blooming, twisting valley

Alright

As the light

Shines through the window pane

The sun slowly stumbles through the sky, again and again

A day ahead

A world behind