What the body will say when you’re dead
He swallowed pills abilify aristada atenolol benzodiazepine buspar chantix divalproex sodium lithium paxil warfarin zoloft zyprexa for thoughts that didn’t make sense for fixing a body
He lived smoking a cigarette on the porch in the street in a portrait with ferns a portrait of placid water black scribbled charcoal marks on paper gutted lungs smoking suicide smoking as a cure for boredom
He was not unhappy tentative watchful of what was happening women in busses exploding words on billboards examined voices for context or content assumed what might be the next shoe thrown against a wall slapping pictures of his life hurtling towards the carpet
He was reckless with love rarely knowing how math works money in the trashcan pennies thrown in the street scared spending its conditions loved each thing itself secretly in psychosis making up lost time trying in monetary terms a painter a cook sometimes father to unimaginable wordplay to children to forget to ward off hummingbirds leaving the garden beaming sunflowers each year trying to hold on to one last oakleaf in winter
not even the blackbirds would stay there
perched in the trees
He lived blackwhite rules drawing the hard world a child in grade school sitting at a desk learning cartoon characters political parties dinosaurs atom bombs mutually assured destruction tipping points wars over nothing starvation biblical plagues locusts looking for food in a wheat field rats people scurrying in basements afraid of each other of what it meant to be alive without responsibility learned to break rules of one sided history books cracked at the spine then lived history anyway writing on windows creating mixed-up suburban graffiti then quit returned to the suburbs tail cut from his body
He knew what he saw everything always a declining time-line even absolutes the blue orange sun shining in mornings before descending a barely working staircase to make bread the idea that we’re trying to work this dough enough to make it cohesive to bring together dry bits of flour before mixing further to eat first by looking at what’s in front of you.
Mini-interview with Jeff King
HFR: Can you share a moment that has shaped you as a writer (or continues to)?
JK: Being invited to attend a creative writing group a few years ago. I’ve always had an interest in writing, but never really tried refining my writing too much before that point. At first, I found revisions kind of annoying, but then realized the importance of the process. I’m a little behind the curve regarding formally approaching poetry, but with that small effort, I feel I’ve improved.
HFR: What are you reading?
JK: I’m in a creative writing class, so much of the reading I’ve done lately is derived from that experience. Some of the authors I like from the course are Patricia Smith, Brigit Peegan Kelly, and Nate Marshall. Also, recently I’ve been re-listening to Steven Jesse Bernstein, his posthumously released album called, Prison.
HFR: Can you tell us what prompted “What the body will say when you are dead”?
JK: In short, it began as an exercise. I was trying to develop a better process for directness in my writing. I tried to be direct about the subjects of the poem, which ultimately is a sort of discussion of life and mortality. I also wanted strong visual components. The meaning is personal, but I also attempted to bridge the work into feeling universal.
HFR: What’s next? What are you working on?
JK: I’m working on a painting exhibition, a solo show at Project Project Gallery in Omaha. As far as writing, I am working on more poetry, trying to continue to discover what I’m interested in writing about or not. I’d like to continue to publish poetry, so I’m still sending things out. I’d like to do a chapbook next.
HFR: Take the floor. Be political. Be fanatical. Be anything. What do you want to share?
JK: All I can say is, find that thing and do it. I wouldn’t be answering this question had I not.
Jeff King was born in 1974 in Omaha, Nebraska, of which he is a lifelong resident. He is also a visual artist, a painter, and is currently working on an exhibition for Project Project gallery in Omaha. Jeff began writing at age eighteen, and has an avid interest in poetry, and discovering new ways to explore life through language. He lives together with his wife Jennie and two sons, and an amateur zoo of pets.
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