Alex Alemany





My inept tongue nests

Inside a shallow windpipe

Spurning all but script


I adjust my smile

Three times before withdrawing

My heart completely


Starless truths gather

Like magpies in the cartridge

Of a trusted pen

Excising dead flesh

I burgeon pink and fertile

From a would be grave


I really couldn’t write today I was much too distracted and nervous. I had an appointment with a counselor. I was dreading it but in the end the woman was very nice. I feel embarrassed now after the fact. Did I make myself look healthier than I am? I tend to gloss over my problems when I get nervous. I also laugh when I get nervous. Did I come off as whiny? Or cruel? I told her I wasn’t happy with my Neurologist and I feel very bad about that now.  Ugh…guilt. I did manage to tell her about my social anxiety, memory problems, and desire for more independence maybe even taking on part-time manual labor sort of job something strait-forward and not to people intense. I didn’t mention my past in a way I want to talk about it because I feel it is affecting me and I think it will be helpful in drawing a more complete picture. I don’t want to spend session after session on my past though, I want to focus on concrete future goals, but I think it is necessary because it was unhealthy.

Also I submitted this to Carbon Noise Poetry

Becoming ID


I’ve got one hand flexed

Around the stem of a fertile pen

The other unscrewing

My cardiac valve

If I expose my blood

To the elements

Will I rust?

Tetanus immobilizing

My swaying limbs


Resolute or intransigent?

Will I flinch when reaping

Stark white monosyllables

From a verminous subconscious

Or will I burgeon as the Taoist

Spirit ripened through exposure?


My falling voice

Creates no ripples

Without witness

Do these despairing stanzas

Animate the way

They were intended?


Only foolish men

Need the comfort

Of vanity

Genius is complete

On creation


Here I stand

In pieces

A foolish man

Whispering to a crowd

Narcissism inverted

But equally self-obsessed


Of my flesh

These poems wear

The same cloak of invisibility

That I have worn,

Heedless of season

An impious hibernation

Silencing dissent

Fearful eyes adjust the margins

That I may continue unabated

To rest

Mediocrity, aborting



My treasonous heart

Goads my pen

Tap, tap, tap

An illithid stripping


From an onerous womb (mind)

An illithid stalking

Psionic walls

Emotional constructs

That lust not for revelation

But preservation


Confession, imminent

Vital to the integrity

Of my scaffolding

I must allay these burdens

Or abandon altogether

The wind


There is very little left

Of my super ego

I am becoming ID

Impulse over procedure

Viscera over vision

Semaphore over soliloquy

Mascara black, my words

Run on inquisition

Any closer and will both

Go mad


This poem is about my writing process I often start out very reserved, locked up, rigid, disconnected from my feelings, insecure I worry what others think, what I think about myself which isn’t good (this isn’t always the case but I am writing daily now and inspiration varies), I edit out things that are too personal. I end up with a few very tense lines and then I get to business hacking down all those barriers, barriers that my extreme shyness reconstructs daily. I eventually get to the vulnerable, juicy center and that is what I try to give you guys. By the time I get to the core I rarely care what anyone thinks because at that point it is all about the writing.  Writing is cathartic for me because I tend to be very very inhibited normally and I feel like myself when I write. The reason it sounds like multiple poems simultaneously is because that is actually how I write, several poems in the same breath all running together sometimes of a similar theme sometimes of very contrary themes.  I will invariably use all the poem but maybe not at the same time if it doesn’t fit together sensibly. This time I left it because I wanted to show you the untamed version lol

Illithid if you haven’t heard of one.