the ironic beauty of south jersey
August 31, 2008
the sun sets
behind a veil of smog,
igniting the horizon.
i think it’s the brisk clean air i miss most of all. (hoping i wont one day reminisce about today’s reminiscence)
August 31, 2008
the sunshine reflecting from the snow
on a saturday with nothing to do
stale, repetitive breakfast spiced with chalula
i try not to stare at the pine needles
so much as to let you know they’re more beautiful
than our your conversation
and we stroll
its cold out, but too beautiful for anything save a t-shirt
my feet cool and dry in my shoes and a jacket
a little too tight
breathing the crisp air you talk about your guitar
your hopes for a band we both know will
never materialize
we pass over grass we know we’ll leave soon
and dream of a place better than this
(dirt made mud filled snow now slush)
knowing full well we’ll later dream dreams of this day
recalling the cool brisk air and the joy we feel
knowing we’re soon to be overcome
reminded we cannot beat the cold
more needles and pine trees and squinting through fall
the beauty of spring – the life of so many things
and the death of our shared plight
a place we’ve found so comfortable
balconies where we pledged to smoke at least one bowl
of vanilla black cavendish
friends we were sure would never fall in love
places we were sure we’d never leave
and times we were sure about which we’d never
reminisce
Lazy Sunday Mornings
August 31, 2008
A tenuous magic
exists this morning,
as we lay in bed
daring not to speak,
move, or even hardly breathe,
lest the spell be dispelled
at the slightest stirring.
my beerlema
August 31, 2008
i really want a beer now
but i dont want a beer now
because i also want a beer later
and i cant have both a beer now
and a beer later
two beers in one day isn’t a problem
except that i want two beers everyday
and two beers every day isn’t a problem
except that then i have three beers every day
and when i have three beers
some days i want four beers
and five beers is really too many
so i have to refrain from a beer now
for feer of beer too beerquently
the ceiling dark and low
er than i remember as a boy
and those who dove so much smaller
but black bart still tickled my fears
and his heart still beat out haunts
as i crawled through his insides
on my way to grotto
behind the waterfall where you had
your first kiss
the mystery
now lost on me
the oily-food runs
not any more fun
the nape of your neck
August 30, 2008
my hands
are a boat
which sets sail
along the coastline
of your skin tracing
the contours of
every grain of
sand holding fast
against the welling
and swelling of the sea
coming to safe harbor
at the nape of your neck.
Untitled
August 30, 2008
Is a poem
entitled untitled
really devoid in
a titular sense?
if a man with multiple personality disorder kills themselves is it suicide or murder?
August 30, 2008
they sat in this room and thought up
the worst things that could happen,
and he followed him everywhere
like some stray cat with no tail
but with lots of tales
and question marks
so many it could block out the sun
some days
and he would distract him so much
it was hard to finish his sentences
there were just so many questions
and so many things that could happen
and of all the things that could happen
one of them would surely not be
his disappearance.
pulling can be fun
August 30, 2008
Hips turn and lock in
Sending hide well overhead
Bounding fielders
work-shmwork
August 29, 2008
I could sit here all day
watching scrubs and be
perfectly happy but when
it comes to doing work
it comes so easy to
procrastinate and do
anything else, even
watching scrubs for hours.
illustrate me for an instant children’s classic
August 29, 2008
lore and yore and just a little more
thus and fuss tomorrow some pus
you, doo doo, flew and MOO!
moose and goose and dr. seuss
电动车.(dian dong che) – electric moving vehicle
August 29, 2008
ride a bike of electric mass, force, drive, power
whose name (in the local dialect) is a euphemism for
well…
today i paint it yellow
to suit
cliffs
August 28, 2008
every day
later i wake
not wanting
to leave you
for the same
reason i do
not jump
off
cliffs.
i want to wake up and break up this lake of hell
August 27, 2008
i keep talking
and reorganizing my words
waiting for an echo to sound
just the way i dreamed it would,
waiting for the words to come
back and for the crowd to
applause, to clamor, waiting
for the worms to hit the
streets after my words bounce
off the earth like rain.
he is the next poe, they would say
he is the next bukowski
hemingway
and i would be claimed philosopher king
the only philosopher king to run
through wal-mart like a downhill slalom,
laughing at capitalism,
dodging in and out of clothing racks.
I was liberated the other day
August 27, 2008
when i read the phrase
that i do have a choice
every day, i can either
put words down on screen
or i can kill myself
rcribay
joshuagrace
freakynewchild
Tucker J. Collins
saxsquatch
David X. Hugo
larsalexander
tynedaile
