Month: May 2010

for want of english inspiration

poetry

the beauty i hear isn’t in
carefully selected words pieced together
in crafted sentences on ideas new and
novel

all that enters my ear is
words in mathematical order in
equations i understand but cannot yet
utilize, and colors more bland than
my own color wheel

i miss days of fascination where
my pen couldn’t keep up with the
ideas being generated by my more
than creative brilliant surroundings.

i miss english.

ever-living Fire

poetry

droplets vein and
track down the
slicked and glistened
glass window.

their quiet silence and
my lover’s voice
wake me – it’s saturday.

morning thunder
rumbles out of place,
audibly unfamiliar – belonging
to a summer afternoon
still to come.

chugging low crashes
soundtrack the small
chores of the early day and
rattle the panes once
in a while.

the gray dawning is
sublime and mortality
hangs in the air
between our two bodies – No,

it flashes with a
glance and shakes us,
each to each’s core.

If I were an Ancient Wayward Traveler, I would move across the old countries a bit in the same way that a car full of traveling musicians does, albeit with one less drum set. And probably a cooler sort of hat.

poetry

There are not two
thousand miles between our comings
and our goings,
but it takes two trips
to come and go
completely.

Feet blistered hands raw
from running the walking
stick at probably just four
miles or so. We can’t be too
hasty after all.

Someone lost count after some
of those miles but we
aren’t so long in to the
coming, and as far as things
seem to go, the going
may be rather slow,
so maybe let’s not worry so much
about maps and the like.

Maybe let’s take a moment
or two
to stretch, scratch, and
retie that loose pair of sandals

Modern Love

poetry

I am walking bare foot
Over chalky concrete
Then it happens-

An unexpected downpour
Blogs, millions of them
Pelt down

You’re by the post office
I can see you
Standing there, brooding

Peeling off my soppy jacket
The blogs, frenzied
Drench my shirt underneath

I’m getting closer though
Not far now,
Maybe a football field

But then the clouds smirk
And down plunge the
Social networking sites

Nothing stays dry
They’re loaded, malicious
Each drop a smack on the head

Crisp leaves soak them up
Soak me up
I’m half way to swimming

A few feet ahead of me,
Vague text messages
Hit the pavement like bullets

A few feet ahead of you
A white wall of water hangs
Dancing like a drying sheet

Smacking shards and droplets
Away from my face
I look out, searching

You’re gone, walked inside
Posting something?
In transit

And I’m there
Sewer rat, dripping
Typetitypetype.

last night i had my first zombie dream

poetry

i bashed in heads
apparently my preferred weapon is a baseball bat.
i ran through abandoned suburbs
on sunny days chasing flesh eating
former humans.

i fled to the safety zone again and again
but throughout my dream
(and this is where it crossed into reality)
i left the safety zone repeatedly
to hit the grocery store.

wanting cheetoes (the organic puffy kind)
seeking runts and nerds and french baguettes
and donuts.
beer.
always more zombies for beer.

they crowd in the rotten produce isles
if you enter just right you can escape without notice.

last night i had my first zombie dream.
it wasn’t scary at all.
but now i’m more fearful of an outbreak.
the reality of my unwillingness to stay safe
without beer
is terrifying.

Philly bums

poetry

When I run out of all this
hard-earned easy-spent
cash of mine, I’m gonna
end up just like one of them
laid back Philly bums.

I’m gonna chill.
Right on that park bench
with those sunglasses on
and that old suit coat
buttoned all the way,
and when you pass me
I won’t even ask for cash.

Them laid back Philly bums
know just what it means,
I guess.

They get what’s good,
and sometimes with the
taxis trying to kill a body,
and the buses not caring
if they do, I guess a little
live music and sunshine
is good enough for me.

just like one of them laid back Philly bums.

mind altering substances

poetry

i wonder what it would be like to
pop something like peyote for the
night and entertain myself with
thoughts a little less mundane.

i wonder and find the thought
different enough i’m willing to
settle for having partaken of the
inquisition, and lacked the drug

Distance in many senses.

poetry

You seem so very hopeful
with that
smile stitched so carefully
just underneath your
nose,
where your scowl is supposed to be
But please, just gnash your
jowls,
I’ve no reason to fear you today,
as it’s so hard to
hit
someone a thousand miles away

And even if that smile
was
as perfect as you claim,
it’s impossible to
touch
you.

You’re a thousand miles away.

worms on the sidewalk

poetry

we went downtown and we made it happen
me, dustin, and brown boy went to an
unchristened skate shop to score some
of that ol’ pick-me-up-rocket-ship

we rode it back to locust and pine
where the drunkards were yelling

i was smashed and kind of on edge
facing face to face with faces
reminding them that johnny law
has an itchy trigger finger (ya dig?)

ms. white was in the closet talking
budgeting and finance, cogs and
gears and regicide and fire

we were howling at the lonely moon
wringing whiskey out of the night’s
spirit-soaked blanket
with jesus asleep on the couch
and
the sky had white clouds blocking
the stars just because

we had the tunes and the intoxicants
flowing like blood through the streets while
the men and women with twisted spines
were trying to sleep under itchy sheets with
the sound of our madness ringing in their
ears keeping their stupid dreams from ever
coming.

99

poetry

Ninety nine contacts
Scrolling up.
Center.
Past.
Gone.
Ninety nine names
With ninety nine voices
And flesh.
And blood.
And bone.
Ninety nine lives
Re /
duced
To ninety nine numbers.
(2 99 #’s)
Souls circulated like
Business cards.
Ninety nine entries
Of ninety nine strangers
And calling them friends.
Clutching this phone
Like my favorite sin.

technology, entertainment, design

poetry

i posit that all of this gas
and carbon nonsense is
the molecules within a falling
raindrop, electrons and
other scientific things popping
and fizzing as supernovas in
a black abyss. that chances are
we will be crushed on an umbrella,
that man will have spent all
of his time sitting in front of computer
screens, watching geniuses blabber,
positing about carbon and raindrops,
and plop,
right on some 9 year old’s hannah
montana umbrella. she’ll be livin’ like
us, ears closed, just like one big
epic irony. for feelings,
i guess.

It takes twelve minutes to boil an egg

poetry

It took Plath less than twelve to boil her head.
The skinny clock hand that creeps around so fox-like
Doesn’t care if you made it all the way to the
Platform, just one hair after the last train home
Slips away, slug in a rug, down the chimney tunnel.

And like the cheeky alarm clock that taps its little
Toes all night long, like the fractures that creep
Their way into bingo-playing bones, it’s coming for you.
While your tea turns to a swamp and your cornflakes
Turn to baby vomit in their bowl, it’s coming for you.

So kiss me harder next time, because it’s coming for you
And don’t let your beer go warm like you have done.
Because it’s coming for you, and there’s no way of stopping it.