Month: February 2009

the ground has something to say

poetry

they told me it’s rules
you have to
and slapped it on my face
it’s not my fault
i’ve been crawling in it
and still don’t quite get it
but you, you seem fine
with everything constrained
you make it work
she makes it roll off
her shoulders
and i’d like to know how
she keeps the soldiers
at bay–
with lips
like that;
and the subtlest breeze
knocks me down
where i walk upside down
and you, well
you’re oh so small
in this wonderland.

because you disgust me

poetry

cant find the thoughts i left
in the room next to your kitchen
which i hesitate to call dining
or even den given the state its in

and the disarray is distracting
at best knowing i should have
written on something more robust
than a napkin thus making me
downright mad i was interacting

with such a face as yours
in such as house as yours
over such thoughts as yours

Marsh-Mellow

poetry

Let’s look together for the crest of our youth
Helsinki’s crinel, neither green nor gray
dancing into the winter’s wind.
Our parched skins seeking barmaids and wine carafes
cheap and full.
Nailed to the bar, we consummed our moons
whirling in the night.
Shattered and lost among the familiar alleys
we jumped on the wet pavements
dredging for gold.

Terrifying.

poetry

“I thought I heard an aeroplane
it must’ve been just the breeze”
And that
Thought
Worries me.

Just the breeze. Just the
single most inherently
powerful thing that
touches us every day, but
we don’t even know it.

In the breadth of a single
instant, it could simply
decide to knock a car off
a bridge.

It could blow me apart.
It could blow us apart.
It has blown us apart.

But why worry so much?
“It’s just the breeze.”

kiddo can crawl pretty good now

poetry

your finger finds the puff of
lint fallen from my pocket aged to
perfection through long hours
tumbling round my fingers gathering
tiny pieces of paper and fingernail
fungus never resting even
while being washed seeking lint
from new shirts gathered over
time slowing nearly stopping
aging growing happily
knowing full well it will escape
to my carpet and become an
object of crawling causing
desire for my daughter

Fluke

poetry

We strapped up
and headed out like Hell on wheels
and tore the whole damn city down
but never found
a reason Why we did it

but if we get another chance
We’ll strap up again and
break the whole damn thing one more time
Just to prove we can.

A fluke’s not a fluke until I say it is.

Upon the Cusp of Mourning

poetry

what is a dream
a thought, a desire
to be loved, or feared
which is a dream that is unattainable
the asinine fool has many
as does the wise hermit atop a hillside
do the experienced have only that has been
withered and dried up
and spoiled by the pestilence
that plagues the earth so old
what is the purpose of dreams
and what is the meaning of life
these questions are balanced and same
and those plagued with too many dreams
are they expected to be anything less than fatigued
with a lost hope of life, liberty, love and purpose to carry on

good news

poetry

of sunshine in the years to come
because we cannot control the weather
but we can choose where we live
and on what we’ll sleep
like memory foam

it also comes in the form of a
grade after a miserable test
you think you’ll probably fail
but the days after that test
and before that grade

on memory foam
looking forward to sunshine

those days are good

Wasted days

poetry

Honey let the record play
the’ve got a lot of shit to say
I hear it in their voices but
can’t hear it in their phrase

I swear there’s meaning there, profound
though none of it has yet been found
we shouldn’t let that stop us
Listen on through the malaise

or second thought, let’s turn it off
We’ve better ways
to waste our days

than listening to another folk guitarist-hack