Saturday, December 15, 2012

Scooby Doo Wrap 
for Korsica Liyaka Shepherd [R.I.P.]

I want to marry her and she's dead
erotic and funny, daring and scared

did not know that she was dead when
I stumbled upon her

aroused by her, loving her for several weeks
when it dawned on me that she had
passed away

that she had met her demise, raped and murdered,
found wrapped in a Scooby-Doo blanket

I felt cheated; the world had been robbed

who had made use of her, I wondered
like emptying a can of beer and flinging the can away

or a bag of chips and throwing the bag away

box or can or cartoon, disposed of,
after emptying it of its content

incensed by the thought of this even now
rather than expect more and more of her though,
it is necessary that I savor what is available

during my most recent engagement
with images of her
videos she made and left on YouTube

awake for two days, going on three, without having slept
stimulated by her; I had been missing her;
needing my fill of her; turned to her to be fulfilled

to quench thirst, satisfy appetite
for what she alone is able to fill my senses with

I found myself considering that it was all pointless,
my loving her as I do, my being in love with her,
actually in love with her, because she is dead

she is not here, no way for her to know of me or to respond

and it occurred to me that spiritually, she does exist still
and is possibly freer to know of me and to be with me
than if she was alive and living in Huston, Texas

this is where she died, by the way-
or where she was found dead-
it makes me so extraordinarily angry

I wanted to be able to connect with her mind though
connect with her mentally, communicate,
write to her and to become friends

share with her my poems of her
here with me, share with me,

love her more, I find, than the last girl
I was in a relationship with
relationship that is most likely over now

it is she with whom I am in love
for whom I live, my raison d'être at present

I always must have that someone
who stimulates me most

a love affair to wear like the clothes I wear
to wear like the skin I'm in

will we be strangers or could we be friends
would it suffice to get to know her mom or sister

or is there no one to alleviate the feeling of loss
of a kindred spirit

no one to approximate or to replace, exactly,
who was lost 

I get angry as well, confronting the loss
of  John F. Kennedy, who was killed,
so very violently, in 1963

who would kill someone it seems
is unaware of who all- of what all is attached
to what is damaged- to who is eliminated

loss of a life is loss for so many
I mean strings attached, popping
like ligaments in ones body - like nerve fibers

how hard it is to avoid saying the F word loudly,
explosively, like my dear friend
and fellow writer, Sonia, would

when some driver of another vehicle
behind her, beside her or before her
does something she considers
unforgivably stupid on the streets of Nassau,
with her and me in her parents'
great-big, grey Mecedes Benz


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2012
11:16 p.m. 14.12.12

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