thick warm air
forced down throats by
heaving lungs
barely breathable
make it work, make it work,
cough and wretch and
gasp it down again
and every
little palpitation
of the heart
the mind
the spirit
will be painted in someone’s studio
immortalized wholly
for ever and ever
Day: July 28, 2010
l’apathie absolue
poetrythe elephant in the room
is that your mother is dying
from a cancer
and your heart follows the
rain,
down through the gutters
apathy is a warm blanket,
your body is a cold machine,
all around you a million shades
of grey paint pop-culture
pictures that disappear when
you look at them like
all of the fake-stars in the sky
there are few words left for what you see
you put your art in a grey can
and give it a stupid name;
this survival is an encouraged
and repugnant greed
and is the cancer itself
beauty is right behind that elephant.
Shape Sorter
poetryScrambling like a firehouse
twirling down poles a’ clamoring
If theses shapes don’t go in soon
I’m goin’ to get a’ hammering
The alarm compliments the squealing screeching tires
I hurry to complete the task before the time expires
The wobbly and goin’ a’rollin’ stone
Falls into the circular shape of its own
Better be a’hurryin’ cause times a runnin’ out soon
Place it next to the star, slide in the crescent moon
Tick, tick! Yes, make it quick!
Will I make it in the nick?
Oh no, the square, it’s home, oh where?
If I can’t find it then—oh look, its there!
So urgently, oh the polygonal urgency!
Pick up the pace, this is an emergency!
The last two shapes are swallowed and contained
Times up! The piece pop! Let’s do it all over again
the sieve and the sand 