Two Poems by Scott Wordsman





re: Misremembered

When I listen to The Smiths I am eighteen

and coming off a breakup. I am coming back

to tell my eighteen-year-old self not to spend

the next several years constructing a shelf

to build the body below. Sad songs sound

sappy in retrospect. Catharsis is not the same

as crying in a basement. Nowhere in a manual

will the instructions read bleed, repeat; bleed,

repeat. I’ve never cut myself intentionally. The

tears you fake are equal to the tears you make.


re: The Doom Generation

Gregg Araki spearheaded New Queer Cinema,

films revealed through lust and lust and lust

and a planet smashed through sequence—how

good movies can evoke tears, but great movies

can invoke fears. When I neglect protection I

google each possible disease that could now

belong to me. Some say it’s not the number

of years in your life, but the number of beers

in your years. A chorus. A verse a verse a verse.


Scott Wordsman‘s poems and criticism appear in Colorado Review, THRUSH, Coldfront, Forklift/Ohio, and elsewhere. He teaches at William Paterson University.