Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

When I read your attempts at Latin & 'cum' & humour I
think: no one cares about you after 1 a.m. &: it's so
exhausting, &: did your father(s) never tell you to "stop
showing off to people." Were you never crushed & leant
on by another? I guess that's why my weariness comes
from & distends. Or perhaps it's just obvious bad
manners. When I get excited because I think, why should
I hide the fact? Does that mean I have loose morals or
absence (social awareness) or cool. I will pretend from
now on. When I lose heart because there are too too
many I's for my liking, & you won't write to me these
days because you say I lost heart too many times, &
that's ridiculous, but OK, because you're still hostile
after all these years that are still there smouldering.
    Whenever I write you it blends & morphs into so many
others. That's what comes from being informal I guess.
Or not cool. Or erotic. When I get respite from absence,
when I think about SPACE—annihilating all that's
made... I don't know about presence (metaphysically), I
never felt any. When that's all corrupt-ridiculous, a
dream-trampling, I hear that Dundee's a satellite of
Cambridge, I laugh & puke & think how nice to be a
lesbian putting on plays by Olsen. When I watch films
with '70s headscarves on heroes like they were the good
old days. (But free love comes at a price, at least the cost
of one or two burnt fingers). Our mothers learnt that for
us amongst nothing.