December 2011
9 posts
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I never thought it could look like this
but it does, our rebirth is not limited
to dollars, cents
hang ups that drag us out
into temperamental
ejaculatory comas
we can’t forget what made
the colors mix
we can’t forget why we put
the fire out and ran toward beaches
sand between our toes
and sun kissed necks
craning to get higher and higher
to kiss the sun...
3 tags
The Next Minute
One minute I am
swishing Manny’s
tapping on an airplane bottle
full of Fireball
in my breast pocket-
a gay senator cracks
a joke at my expense
I am growing deaf to jokes
so I don’t really know
if it was actually made
at my expense
SO I KEEP LAUGHING LOUDER
humoring the funny man and
slapping the knees of my funny friends.
The next minute I am
not...
Psalms 83:18
stretch out into the ether
so that we may bump into
each other
waltzing to the soundtrack
of Miranda July
and haiku hiccups
outside of Howarth Park.
the particles of our personas
baffling stethoscopes
and CEOs
I will love you the best I can
groping you as I used to grip
onto my stuffed sense of innocence
that she never gave a name
that never needed a name
I don’t have to know yours...
Friends
The cynic died when I heard you cry out my name in such delight! I love you! we’re going to grow old together - in less than an hour. we’re going to be foreign tourists in our native flesh; from sperm to skeletons, standing in place amidst acres of raw, fulfilling experiences. Where the Eskimo becomes the artist and we benefit from betrayal.
Little Columbus (You Must Be This Tall To Ride)
we’re tossing and turning green
weaning ourselves off of the grid
from the fables
from the troth
from the cables
euthanizing everyone
for authenticated truth
IT’S AN EMPIRE!
without a Cincinnatus
without a panther of any color
just bridges collapsing,
holding hundreds of Guy Fawkeses
this is a country that thrives on war
so it’s only natural that we...
Every day is triumphant
Every night is pitiful
I hate the word “every”
Originality in the form of Neurosis: Olympia,... →
seedlessfruitless:
I used to want to save the whales: keep their blubber out of sailor’s lamps and The lipsticks that I now wear.
Her name was Olympia, killed by poachers.
I was 7,
And she was dead.
I was 7,
With lifesaver fingers concentric with themselves In rusted rungs of cheap copper: I couldn’t…