Rob Plath

doomed love songs

baudelaire you died at 46
& i feel guilty b/c i’m 51 now
why should i live longer than a beautiful dark giant?
maybe living longer isn’t so great
especially if yr a failure like myself
living in a busted dungeon alone
baudelaire there are so many cigarette burns
in this carpet
like the fossils of fallen black stars
i count them over & over but still can’t sleep
the windows are falling out of their rotted sills
i stub my insomniac toes on broken tiles
in the sleepless dark
the cat is sleeping in the window tho
the moon light a ghostly second coat
every decrepit window is magic w/ her in it
baudelaire i’d give you my five years if i could
just to see another poem of yrs
you lovely green haired dandy of doom
i feel guilty for walking about on the planet
while my idols are mere dust
baudelaire i smoked outside before
while october crickets sang for love
last week i read their amorous songs attract parasitic flies tho
that lay eggs w/ in the cricket
& then worms eat the cricket from the inside out
baudelaire i think some dark thing
laid eggs in my heart too
the more lines i get down
the more i feel something tearing out
baudelaire the ceiling is dripping
in the sleepless dark i imagine it’s blood
& i am christened by trickle drops
as i stumble to the door
w/ a bloody forehead
to smoke beneath october stars
as somewhere another cricket bursts
open w/ parasitic worms
for singing too much
for wanting love too much

Rob Plath lives in New York with his cat Daisy. He does his best to stay out of trouble. He’s been publishing his work for about 28 years. See more about him at robplath.com

Rob Plath

the dark core of everything

as a boy
i remember
watching
my mother
peel potatoes
w/ a knife
the way she
held the blade
the way her thin
wrist turned
& how she took
just the right
amount of flesh off
& dug out
spots of rot
saving the most
pathetic potatoes
& how clean
they all looked
in the colander
beneath the faucet
& then decades later
i remember
how she got sick
but still insisted
on cooking
& burned a pot
on the stove
after she passed
out on the floor
in the den
& how i wished
it was simple
that i could’ve
taken a knife
shaved away
the tumor
cut out all
of those terrible
multiplying
dark eyes
until everything
was clean again

rob plath writes like a velociraptor is behind his back. he loves cats & the moon. find more of his work at robplath.com 

Rob Plath

the mover

i dreamt my mother

was helping me

carry her own coffin
to the cemetery

strangely, she was both inside

& outside of the box

she was so calm
for a while i doubted

she knew who we were

planting in the ground

but after a considerable

amount of steps i was certain

she recognized her own weight

yet it was as if she was the mover

of a piece of furniture

& not her own pallbearer

peaceful as if she were

merely rearranging

a space— perhaps moving

a large cedar chest
for fresh linens
from one room

to the next

Rob Plath is a writer from New York. He is most known for his monster collection  A BELLYFUL OF ANARCHY (epic rites press 2009). His newest collection is MY SOUL IS A BROKEN DOWN VALISE (epic rites press 2019). You can see more of his work at robplath.com

Choosing a version, by Rob Plath

you dream yr mother’s alive again & yr both discussing her death.  in the dream, the dead version’s in the cemetery like in real life & the alive version sits at the kitchen table w/you. the alive version is trying to ease yr grief. she keeps telling you not to dwell on the dead version. it’s strange tho b/c the alive version isn’t bothered at all by the dead version.  the alive version only thinks of you.  you both continue into the wee hours of the night.  when you awake in the morning, the mid-September light is shining.  you jump up & make green tea & open the kitchen window.  the breeze presses thru the mesh, generously filling the little room.

Rob Plath is a 47-year-old poet from New York. He has over a dozen books out. He is most known for his collection A BELLYFUL OF ANARCHY (epic rites press). He lives alone with his cat and stays out of trouble. See more of his work at www.robplath.com

Rob Plath

my father prided himself on being
a thug, a leg breaker, a thief
whose every third word was cunt or motherfucker
& usually aimed at his own family
but he wouldn't allow his 12-year-old son
to have a miniature swiss army knife
i remember he grabbed it from my hands 
& kept it himself in the drawer
w/ other larger knives & a pistol
i loved the knife back then 
the way it snapped in & out of its thin bed 
but when i grew older & disinterested
in knives & bb guns 
i found i possessed another kind of edge 
passed down to me thru the centuries 
a beautiful blade sheathed in the skull
which grows sharper & sharper 
& never is in need of the grindstone

Rob Plath is a 46-year-old poet from New York. He has over a dozen books out. He is most known for his collection A BELLYFUL OF ANARCHY (epic rites press). He lives alone with his cat and stays out of trouble. See more of his work at http://www.robplath.com.