Adam Fieled


My life is a jalopy.
I tried to give it sure
shocks, paint it cherry
red; it sputtered, dead.
Now I have nowhere
to ride. I want to steer
towards something—
road’s not fair, clear.

All those blue notes,
underneath the hood—
everything’s been sold,
bad and good. I’m cold.
I look two ways. But
to break is a short-cut.

Sky, Moon, Clouds

Are hands entwined, kissed
infused with such tenderness
that they become ethereal, as
things with sky and moon and
clouds in them, everything that
doesn’t touch the earth etched
into little composite sketches
of Milky Way deliverance?

There was depth between us
of somewhere else where no
image will suffice and in which
concrete particulars are daft as
a twelve-dollar bill. The coffee
only cost us five dollars anyway.
There was no greater price to pay.

If I go
to this

to pay

to you,

can I

to pay

to me?

On a Plain

       I love myself, better than you,
I know its wrong, but what can I do?
                     I’m on a plain.

                  Kurt Cobain, 1991

Did I have an evil parent? Do I seem a
bit transparent? Can I choose a side and
make it? Should I pick a side and fake it?
Can I tell you what a man is? Can you
show me what a fan is? Do I care that
no one listens? Do I say I’m on a mission?
Should I try to start a movement? Should
we talk a lot or prove it? Can I reference
Percy Shelley? Should I try to be Grace
Kelly? Can I write to garner pity? Should
I say I’m from a city? Does the writing
serve a purpose? Or is purpose always
worthless? Will I settle for this ending?
Is there something I’m forgetting?

Sex and Nihilism

I was thinking as I listened to her
about Byron’s relentless nihilism
that only found out in intoxication
any kind of remedy for the things
she was telling me about abortions
and rapes and how no I won’t go
home with you
and how Byron
alone among the Romantics dealt
overtly with sex not just love like
Shelley or fantasy like Keats or
like Wordsworth the dull sheep

(of course Blake did too that creep)

and all the blokes in the bar were
staring at green eyes red hair
bust you know the kind that blokes
will stare at and I thought Byron
really caught something a seed a
kernel of what Nietzsche ran away
with I said please run away with
and she laughed looked down
into her beer and was finished

Adam Fieled is a poet, musician, and critic based currently in Philadelphia. He has released three print books: Opera Bufa (Otoliths, 2007), When You Bit... (Otoliths, 2008), and Chimes (Blazevox, 2009), several chaps, e-chaps, and e-books as well. He edits the web-journal PFS Post and the blog Stoning the Devil, and is a University Fellow and PhD candidate at Temple University in Philadelphia, where he teaches.

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Blogger Chris said...

Adam, I really like this. This is really good work. It fucking has your heart in it. I really like it a lot. It speaks to the gut.


7:38 PM  

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