a biographical series

T. K. Oih

Note to reader:

These poems were written at a time when I still lived in an apartment which may or may not have had moisture in the bathroom. They are rough, but so was I.

I Don’t Think I’ve Used This Title Before

Sometimes when I drink

eight cups of coffee

in a row

it makes me want to sweat

like an outdoor

animal.

And sometimes when I walk

on an ancient Indian

burial

ground

it’s as if the soles of my shoes

were made of rubber

and attached to the main

part of the shoe

with glue.

And then there are times

when the moistness of the air

is about the only thing I can touch

with my bare eye.

I have had a word with the plumber

and I have talked to the men in charge

but the more I think about it

the more it seems

that the wooden planks

down at the swamp

are not as dark as

they used

to be.

yet another imaginary hen

wanders past the tenement flat where

my dreams reside.

how could I decide

whether it’s really a hen or a hare,

a hare or a hen,

when I don’t even know

how this poem will end?

(if there’s ever

any need to amend

or to pull a lever . . .)

whatever,

I just press »send.»

no, wait, it says »post.»

»post» . . .

most

people would have ended

this poem already.

I didn’t, but I mended

some of the parts that didn’t rhyme

so now it’s practically ready.

mime.

Seashells with Praliné Filling

My life

is the most miserable life

I’ve ever had.

Oh!

How I wish

I had more money

and a house and a gardener and a

French maid and a big fat American

chef!

My only comfort

in the midst of this constant woe

is expensive coffee and Belgian chocolate

seashells with praliné filling

and Monty Python and Arthur Rimbaud and

pictures of naked women and sounds

of silly young girls outside the window

(now closed)

and the sound of thunder or possibly

an aeroplane.

Oh,

Belgium -

so close to Germany

in my mouth!

could someone please fix my right-hand shoe?

sometimes I wake up and

mistake myself for someone else

than who I think I am.

at such an occasion

it’s usually past noon

and the children squealing

could be birds

but I wouldn’t bet on it.

what has my government given me but a

grey plastic telephone,

you are not my friend.

NO!

I start again.

I start again:

I keep this bottle

on the sofa table

and sometimes smell it.

The man in black and white blazer

can’t take it away from me.

I like it wet,

which reminds me,

- ehat a taja tatt tatay

(what a strange, strange shape!)

`jht dd7 u8 . - -)

(I keep t´hihtting the worínf gft fyyfygy yrtryr

ENOUGH.

leave it at the door.

A Little Tail (I Know More About It Than You Do)

I was born where most people would have fallen asleep instead

In the sauna where the Christmas midgets dwell

And I said: the North is not the place for me my hat

Is made of genuine leather so keep your plastic shoes off my

Sidewalk, pal!

Then she said: It’ll rain snow soon the streets will be covered

With frozen water/snow compound tomorrow tomorrow is soon soon

I will go the Germany and you can’t stop me!

This is where we came in.

This is when we will leave.

This is where we’ll be leaving -

No More Physics

Now.

one bull penis too many

such a cold coin -

metallic, as it were -

lives in my pocket.

oh, how I pity the socket

where I plug the floor

lamp (or sometimes the guitar amp,

because there aren’t enough

sockets in my apartment, so I

have to switch the plugs of the

different electric devices,

unplug them when I don’t

use them or if there’s a thunder

storm nearby. (obviously I don’t

use them during the thunder storm

because they’re unplugged then

for obvious reasons.))

I can’t remember

where I got it

(the coin, that is)

but I know it’s there

like a fly would be

in a can of beans

if someone put it there.

a can of beans

and one fly -

only one

but possibly more.

I know it’s there

but not necessarily

because it is so.

(if a haunted house

ever tried to kill me

I’d let it.)