As Is What Was is a collection of poems created with no thought at all. None. There is no control over grammar, sound, rhythm, idea, or anything really. Why? I thought it would be fun. Is it insane? Absolutely.
I carry a demon in my rucksack
He likes to mess with the travel agents
And the flight attendants
Always whispering dark jokes like there’s no tomorrow morning
Then he yawns and curls up under the books and the chargers
I haven’t given him a name yet
But I’d probably call him Sharpie
Not ‘cause he has horns
He doesn’t
But he always seems to be holding a faber castle sketch pen
Or permanent marker
Every time I unzip the pockets
He gets under my fingernails and wreaks havoc
I found a tiny heart and a doggone crossed through
Under my pinky the other evening
Sense of humour unrelenting
He chews on paper a lot
Rolls up against the prints and presses in them a lot
He ain’t an ugly creature but it’s true he doesn’t get as much sunlight
As he should
He whistles the saxophone sometimes
And when they tell you to
“please turn off all your devices”
He peaks out at me
And laughs
But I thought I was left up to my own devices
He also thinks nightmares are a real manifested creature
And although I don’t want to disappoint his strong belief
I can’t help but admit
It would be cooler than a stallion or whatever any of those other clippers are called
Sharpie has a blog on the best types of backpacks to sleep in
I wouldn’t call him much of a historian
But he is famous in Bosnia for some reason
Don’t ask me
My backpack, myself, and him have never been to the country
He likes Hawaiin shirts and Air Max 90s
And chewing on tiny sugarcane sticks and spitting on roads
If he hadn’t fallen into my backpack
He says he’d probably have made it as a folk musician
Bob Dylan would be envious of
But he’s too comfy to bother
And he’s not sure if they give Man Bookers to tiny furry demons
We decided it’d be better if he just vicariously lived
So he’s my editor now
His contract stipulates a dedicated Acknowledgements page
So that’s that