Month: January 2009

The Lust of the Eyes

poetry

i’ve never been one
who’s got to have it
now, Now, NOw, NOW,
but temptation is strong
and giving in is easy
and even sweet, bitter-sweet
(like good dark chocolate),
passing through me
like an aphrodesiac,
sweeping me away
in a whelming flow,
washing away my conscious,
along with the dust
of a fractured soul.

smack

poetry

the fragrance of rose buds in bloom
the fragrance of my kid’s poo poo
the way you smell after a plane
the way you often stink of shame
the fragrance that you smell when all
your friends quit smoking and you
pressed on to be “consistent”
missing all but your contentment
knowing smells bring back that shame
knowing music does the same

missing the smells of your first high school
the one before people knew the real you
knowing you can never go back but
never forgetting that fragrant smack

when the fairy dust has settled

poetry

i marked the
inauguration with
feelings of trepidation

let’s remember that
“change” is not a magic
word made of sparkles
and dust, rather one
spelled with sleepless
nights, burning words,
and blood

let’s remember that
the “Dream” is not
a finish line to be
crossed, rather a reality
we must construct
first in our minds and in
our lives

and let’s remember that
our leaders cannot be God
sweeping down from the clouds
(or the White House) to pluck
you from your own troubles.

NEVER YOU MIND, DEATH PROFESSOR

poetry

the man who sees truth
sees it alone, hungover
in the television set
saturday morning. the
man who sees truth,
suddenly noticing it,
sees that it is something
still needing to be
noticed, as the world
turns antithetical to
it’s purpose. the
man who sees truth
will tear out his own
eyes if not given a
large enough heart
to contain it.

for things like this – an apology to historians

poetry

my lack of works surpassing
a single syllable seems consistently
to lead to poems with lines nearly
or at least visibly
unrelated
but the thoughts seem so tangible
when my fingers move and they spit themselves
out
before i manage to complete the thought
reminding me

i cannot think without these words
my thoughts do not form without me
speaking
farting
or writing

and button after button this
idea makes it into history.
something i’m writing
because i’m unable to simply
dwell on it

I Will Go Spit On Your Grave (10 million years from now, when you’ll be the only reincarnated elephant left screaming)

poetry

Love-acetone

the night sky wears

the layers of skin you sold for

a loaf of sympathy bread.

Hallelujah!

Grace is not welcome here

So long

So long friend

The river will not swallow your bitter tears

The ground will not touch your sullied bones

Farewell friend

Thank you for the smiles

Thank you for being the one

I shall spent my death with.

Go in peace

You’ll always be my bleeding star.

sober thoughts

poetry

oh the things brought on
by the flow of alcohol;
how interesting to sit back
to blend in, to soak it all in,
waiting for the moment
when the unsaid becomes said
and the secret so long kept
is spilled
splashing across everyone,
like a laxly held glass of wine;
it can not be taken back;
it can not become unsaid again,
leaving the only solace possible
that perhaps it won’t be remembered
come tomorrow
after the afterglow has worn off
and only the throbbing remains.