Corey Feldman

(no caption)
At your lowest, Corey Feldman
you still had a father and did
not want much to die for. It must
be easy to say there’s nothing to love
more than lightning now,
free to go on
all of these shows on
top of another felled man
and his lonely mother now
saying it should have been you who did
the saddest dance without love
in a motel, the musty
stench of towels must
have beamed their grace unto you. On
that television you loved
to pamper with yourself, Corey Feldman,
the saddest dance you ever did.
Who loves you now,
or looks at you now
and again, as question you must
this lack that did
you in. Sit, squalid on
cushions, pale Corey Feldman
and tell us why you can’t love
talking anymore about love
and everything else you’ve now
decided to leave without. The things you’ve felt, man:
a doll whose softest layers must
be cleaned, dusted with regularity, charm, and placed on
the otherwise barren mantle. Did
you always mean to finish unbeautiful, or did
you think again of your father, love’s
the blanket on the floor and on
your shoulders, face forward now,
out of danger, you must
warn the others, Corey Feldman.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.