Pamphlets

I beg you not to follow
for pamphlets
they keep following me
like a tired, sweltering day—
on a parched morass.

I hold on to this pen
for pamphlets
they keep following me
like air conditioning seeping
through a gap
under the bathroom door.

Oh, folded papers—
why keep following me?
Appliance promos and four-paged
anarchist zines and
an invitation to the Last Supper
(I beg you, I beg you
not to follow me. For pamphlets
they keep coming!)

They crawl like the next degree
Celsius in my digital clock.
They cling like the last branch
of the wild tree outside my window.
They hum like verses accompanying
the old vacuum cleaner
wailing downstairs.

I take my shirt off
(my orange shorts, too)
and let sweat drip on paper.
For air is scarce here
on this suffocating
house of pamphlets
that follow me. Oh,
they keep following me.

Pamphlets

I beg you not to follow—
oh, pamphlets,
but you keep following me
like a tired, sweltering day
on a parched morass.

I hide inside the privy
for pamphlets
you keep following me
like air conditioning seeping
through a gap under the door.

Oh, folded papers—
why keep following me?
Appliance promos,
credit card application forms,
political propaganda, and
an invitation to the memorial
of Christ's death.

(Crucify me instead—
but you kept coming!
Oh, darling, you kept coming!)

Impending like the next degree
Celsius on my digital thermometer.
Infliltrating like the vine
hanging outside my window.
Humming like verses colliding
with the old vacuum cleaner
wailing downstairs.
But all you really are —
are materials,
flammable.

But you keep following.
Oh, you keep following.