Youth
We overdreamed the dream of youth:
running without hesitation,
an orgasm for every rose petal,
the necessity of white teeth.
Then the trick stops,
the outline of the projector
becomes visible for the first time.
And I hope you are ready to die
without mourning each second
that guides you like a sure procession
to what must happen next.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
New Draft
Contact Comfort
His steady breathing eases
you into the night as a signal
of his departure.
No longer illuminated by sun or bedside lamp
the space feels like a territory secret.
Not a prize but bestowed by
some cycle of nature or
fundamental limit of stamina.
The late night rain hits rooftop
louder splash later pooling on the ground
does not wake up you but tells you a secret;
you realize what you’ve been missing:
sighs hidden in heavy breathing,
condemnation staring ahead.
Always staring ahead.
This is fucking romance.
His steady breathing eases
you into the night as a signal
of his departure.
No longer illuminated by sun or bedside lamp
the space feels like a territory secret.
Not a prize but bestowed by
some cycle of nature or
fundamental limit of stamina.
The late night rain hits rooftop
louder splash later pooling on the ground
does not wake up you but tells you a secret;
you realize what you’ve been missing:
sighs hidden in heavy breathing,
condemnation staring ahead.
Always staring ahead.
This is fucking romance.
Friday, July 23, 2010
New Poem Draft
Lunch Rush
They keep their heads down while moving
these midday masses
heat and frustration rising
until they focus solely on the pavement
while clouds
like orgasms materialized
pass from horizon
into shape
into haze
into invisibility spread thinnest.
They begin to
retreat to the routine.
The act of love
given up
without somber recognition
of what has passed.
They keep their heads down while moving
these midday masses
heat and frustration rising
until they focus solely on the pavement
while clouds
like orgasms materialized
pass from horizon
into shape
into haze
into invisibility spread thinnest.
They begin to
retreat to the routine.
The act of love
given up
without somber recognition
of what has passed.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Poem Draft
Thoughts on Housekeeping
When vacuum cleaners stop
filling your ears with the dread drone
of domesticity,
and the floor becomes a wholesome center
from which all the troubles of the universe
become possible to identify
that is when the coke addictions begin,
and a certain Mister begins to promise a pilgrimage to holy sites.
Some sort of generic lavender scent
coats things and asks you not to analyze anything else,
which is fine and great:
a mini-vacation,
and you had said you needed it.
Still you hide your face at the thought of what Joni Mitchell would say to you now.
When vacuum cleaners stop
filling your ears with the dread drone
of domesticity,
and the floor becomes a wholesome center
from which all the troubles of the universe
become possible to identify
that is when the coke addictions begin,
and a certain Mister begins to promise a pilgrimage to holy sites.
Some sort of generic lavender scent
coats things and asks you not to analyze anything else,
which is fine and great:
a mini-vacation,
and you had said you needed it.
Still you hide your face at the thought of what Joni Mitchell would say to you now.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Poem Written while Tispy
Two shot lightweight!
Boy who has fought in many battles
You slouch in your deskchair, defeated.
Nervous worries tunnel through
Thursday’s apathetic afternoon.
How can light be pale? is a thought
that can’t quite make you feel
comfortable with all of this.
As if answers were transport.
Understanding all of this shit
was never meant to make you comfortable with it.
I can’t even remember Monday, you think.
But who can?
So you keep combing your fingers
through ever-increasingly greasy hair
and the snow outside piles up,
the air turns over,
begins to taste like gin,
and the light illuminated the world outside
becomes flat like when you listen to the music
pouring out of your headphones
and the world becomes a flat mirror
held up to the mouth of the cave
that your hoodie has transformed into.
Keep bottoming out
and maybe some day you’ll get the courage
not to favor convenience over independence.
That one knuckle’s received an awful lot of abuse lately
but the hope lives that calluses will grow over time.
A cat throwing up is the sound of love,
whose name you will never learn
because selfishness has tied its hands.
You would turn out the lights too
if you knew how we looked from the outside.
Boy who has fought in many battles
You slouch in your deskchair, defeated.
Nervous worries tunnel through
Thursday’s apathetic afternoon.
How can light be pale? is a thought
that can’t quite make you feel
comfortable with all of this.
As if answers were transport.
Understanding all of this shit
was never meant to make you comfortable with it.
I can’t even remember Monday, you think.
But who can?
So you keep combing your fingers
through ever-increasingly greasy hair
and the snow outside piles up,
the air turns over,
begins to taste like gin,
and the light illuminated the world outside
becomes flat like when you listen to the music
pouring out of your headphones
and the world becomes a flat mirror
held up to the mouth of the cave
that your hoodie has transformed into.
Keep bottoming out
and maybe some day you’ll get the courage
not to favor convenience over independence.
That one knuckle’s received an awful lot of abuse lately
but the hope lives that calluses will grow over time.
A cat throwing up is the sound of love,
whose name you will never learn
because selfishness has tied its hands.
You would turn out the lights too
if you knew how we looked from the outside.
Monday, April 12, 2010
New Poem (Surprise)
Who Remembers Anyone
Some people are afraid of cameras taking their souls. I can’t imagine writing about people to be any better. I write a description of you and you’re gone. You—not the description, but the real you—have disappeared forever.
–Unknown
New York
Jamie RUDLOFF and Christian ZUCKERMAN ran down the sidewalk, and asked passers-by to let them feel the holy.
Jerri BLAZE asked Loraine OBERRY to step into her purse. Ms. BLAZE later apologized for her “ineffable violence toward the statuary”. Ms. OBERRY has yet to officially accept the apology, stop drinking.
Last night Arlene MINK announced she will not participate in the 3rd annual Holiday Fundraiser Banquet unless a man propose to her with a ring of flame.
Never take photographs of other people.
Dona GOODLOE and Clayton SHEEN swapped glasses, later complained of headaches.
Beth MORA reportedly swept her stairs yesterday evening before her “Man” came home that night. It was observed that the Mr. MAN carried a briefcase and the weight upon his salty brow into the condo.
Eric BRADSHAW exhumed a corpse at the Williams Memorial Garden and Cemetary at eleven o’clock this morning. After the exhumation, Mr. BRADSHAW told his lover, James LAREL to “hop on in”.
Everything is sacred, but not yet.
Lance BAPTISTA wants everyone to have a “good fucking time” tonight & every night.
Antonio CONNOR ate one bite of his dinner last night. When asked for a comment, Mrs. CONNOR claimed that her husband has been suffering from indigestion, due to a high level of stress at his office.
Marcel KLARE stared at his own reflection in the pond at Corrick Park for an hour. He later announced to the small group of people that had taken to watching him watch himself that he was disgusted by their soullessness and wished to help them. At that time the crowd dispersed.
Some people are afraid of cameras taking their souls. I can’t imagine writing about people to be any better. I write a description of you and you’re gone. You—not the description, but the real you—have disappeared forever.
–Unknown
New York
Jamie RUDLOFF and Christian ZUCKERMAN ran down the sidewalk, and asked passers-by to let them feel the holy.
Jerri BLAZE asked Loraine OBERRY to step into her purse. Ms. BLAZE later apologized for her “ineffable violence toward the statuary”. Ms. OBERRY has yet to officially accept the apology, stop drinking.
Last night Arlene MINK announced she will not participate in the 3rd annual Holiday Fundraiser Banquet unless a man propose to her with a ring of flame.
Never take photographs of other people.
Dona GOODLOE and Clayton SHEEN swapped glasses, later complained of headaches.
Beth MORA reportedly swept her stairs yesterday evening before her “Man” came home that night. It was observed that the Mr. MAN carried a briefcase and the weight upon his salty brow into the condo.
Eric BRADSHAW exhumed a corpse at the Williams Memorial Garden and Cemetary at eleven o’clock this morning. After the exhumation, Mr. BRADSHAW told his lover, James LAREL to “hop on in”.
Everything is sacred, but not yet.
Lance BAPTISTA wants everyone to have a “good fucking time” tonight & every night.
Antonio CONNOR ate one bite of his dinner last night. When asked for a comment, Mrs. CONNOR claimed that her husband has been suffering from indigestion, due to a high level of stress at his office.
Marcel KLARE stared at his own reflection in the pond at Corrick Park for an hour. He later announced to the small group of people that had taken to watching him watch himself that he was disgusted by their soullessness and wished to help them. At that time the crowd dispersed.
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