(1/19/07 12:48 am)
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ideal
ideally the chair wouldn't break in a month the futon in a day my /your heart ever but here we are near a red hot fire burning a hole in my cedar chest, a destruction all mine for once or is it always like the swirling dervish of sand over the strawberry fields forever rising up to the eye of god menacing and kindly but still a flock of itenerant geese.
o
(1/20/07 12:45 am)
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sync
so she yawns and says she's tired
and he walks up,stands beside her and i say hey j
this is my daughter, s, & s
this is j, and j are you singing for us tonite
and he says my pleasure while carefully not staring at her
tits & i tell her about how j once told me
he feels fame
feels it's out of his realm b/c he's
a big guy, really big but he didn't say that tho it's what
we're all thinking, image and how its more important
than talent, self promotion and how it's a game
scarcely worth the candle cuz who wants to live
like britney and l lo anyway and then someone else comes up
to the mic so we all politely shut up
and he walks away but later
when he comes on to do his three
originals/his voice
from her teeny bopper years you remember
the boy bands don't you a she taps me
under the table with her foot
and says what did you say his name is?
llaudunum streetfights
Unregistered User
(1/21/07 12:09 am)
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burn chameleon colors
turn down the old familiar streets
the same facades lined up along the sidewalk
as if the jacobsons still mixed
martinis in their back yards to take
over to the parsons grilling
steak on the newest gas grill and the oneil kids
run thru spraying them all
with super soakers instead of semi
automatics that haunt with the scent of columbine
making red flowers bloom instantly
in torpid summer nights .
every inch of the present throws off sparks
that rise , fireflying angels aching from gravity's
pull, rushing toward the lightmaker.
but wait, there are bars
on the windows now, and old
men's toes grasping
the concrete laid down
when they were young.
a broken tricycle lays limply
in your front yard; its tassels ,memories
burnt by too much exposure.
you wait for yourself to come out of the front
door. you wait for your wife and your mother
to stand at the door, beckoning. you wait
for the milk truck's delivery,
the clink that died before your birth
you want to watch as the empties
catch the morning sun
whole, melting slowly. your socks are black
and sag around your ankles as you walk thru
spllinters glittering in the asphalt like a pond, dancing
to vivaldi. there is a flag on the porch.
it has no stars or stripes. you knock.
when they let you in, you walk up the stairs
run your hand along the bannister, the groove
you made with your empty pen in seventh grade
gone now, worn away by the passage
of countless hands over the warm wood.
at the top of the stairs you look up
and there is the attic access. you pull the string
a ladder drops. you've come prepared with a flashlite.
behind you the man and woman are whispering
and you thank them again, saying this will only take
a second. crouching under the sloped roof
count 17 boards from the door, take out the screw
driver and pry it loose.
you hold your breath as you lift to see the white
spine and rib bones, the crushed skull.
your first victim. you think how foolish people are,
like this couple, just letting you in like that.
you move over to the corner, hunkered down
bent double your gut is squeezing squeezing so
you take the pill out of your pocket, place it in your mouth
put your finger on the cold metal and squeeze
yourself out.
Edited by: trashpo at: 1/21/07 12:12 am
ezOP
(1/22/07 9:21 pm)
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moths have been feeding on bird tears often we may not know � because
we have not figured it out � if some
event belongs to the present
or the future. And there are
ontological uncertainties,
even when that present
consists of a long
chunk of time, like, say, 20 years.
But hello - COKE?
At 10 months old?
That's just criminal, like
freeing hundreds of birds
to improve one's karma
The only thing that is real is this breath I'm taking,
only once in a lifetime and it was so hot
that the tar would melt
and we would take that tar
and chew it like chewing gum.
my heart is on quiet fire
We heard the heartbeat
and it was clear
like a cicada, and with each life
shed, trying to get to the middle
and enjoy nature
without taking it personally
( a pome of lines lifted & slightly edited
from various and sundry blogs
none of whom i know--iow : sampling)
Edited by: trashpo at: 1/22/07 9:23 pm
ezOP
(1/23/07 4:14 pm)
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sugar ant mind
the china shipping trucks are gone
and blue october sings to me. the sky
is honey light and teary. my words,
butterfly bones in the mass grave
of getting you to understand.
the train was on track this morning
but i wasn't late. they've swept the nails
from in front of the tower storage.
my tires feel safer. everytime
you call saying things about anything i feel just like
i'm back in the good old days
when i was young and held myself inside
so they wouldn't know me only now i'm them
and i haven't a clue how to get on with
what's left here, on the surface ,
ready to crumble with the first inquisitive touch.
ezOP
(1/26/07 2:42 pm)
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pome on the back of donald trump jr's seminar on wealth tix
the surf is always fore and aft it
never arrives where i'm sittin
here at the pond
seating is limited
one gator sign's missing
everything else is tight
and lessonless
that one guy at water's
edge is new
feeding crumbs to ants
he brushes his
hair back. perfect.
ezOP
(1/28/07 3:30 pm)
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gratituties
i have a stack of cards i'm sending
to my neice one at a time. most of them
are get well cards. she's in the army,
now, and wants lots of letters. mail call
should be the happiest part of her day.
before she died, we'd take
gramma to walgreens for a club
sandwhich and soda every other saturday
until the cancer began to eat her face
and she didn't feel like going anywhere or eating
really cuz the radiation treatments
destroyed her tastebuds and it hurt to swallow
and a even a hand dipped milkshake
held no pleasure. at walgreen's
after the sandwhich, she reaches into her
purse for a little mirror in a rubber
holder embossed with the lion's club symbol, and
a tube of avon lipstick. she carefully reapplies
the light red to lips, and snaps them both back
into her purse, pulls out her list. ready to go
she says and pushes out of the booth. she leaves
fifty cents on the table. she makes
her way thru: the sewing supplies- a page of snaps,
a page of buttons, a length of daisy ribbon; laundry
supplies- downy & tide, she has a coupon; the greeting
cards- get well , thank you, a special occasion a thinking
of you. i write my niece about how i found them in her
cedar chest. our aunt wanted to toss them but i kept them
and the recipie for waldorf jello salad. don't take the get well
cards too personally. i just wanted you to hold
something she touched.
ezOP
(1/29/07 5:28 pm)
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5 minute poem
and i do mean fast, fast
as the way fire
whips thru my veins
whenever i see another new
porn site on my comp and fast
as the time since my kids were born yes
speedy like vacation, like road runner,
like way the coyote crumbles i mean
any faster and it'd be unrecordable, quick
like the way mountains blow to the seas.
(1/30/07 7:15 pm)
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Re: 5 minute poem
off to the living room where the guys are are starting a fire whilst sucking the pimentoes from their olives
jack throws a dart at the mantlepiece
but jim intersects. paul spits his pimento at bob
and the resulting melee is taped for youtube
where it shoots to most watched status rocketing
the two stars to instant low key fame .
bob parlays the exposure into a popular
blog, gets in the st pete times
and enjoys beer at the local pub for free. paul
joins with pat robertson to sue youtube, jack, jim, bob
and five of youtube's executive directors for using
his image without his permission. pat robertson
became involved when he learned that paul
had just been admitted to oral roberts university on a scholarship
based on his high school honors english thesis
"pimentoes are the devil's playfool: a study on the ramifacations
of mixing unborn eggs with mayonaise, mustard and tounge mimicing spices"
sadly for paul, pat withdraws his support at a crucial stage of the lawsuit when it's learned that pimento stuffed olives are actually not the devil's plaything but the lord's favorite food, as clearly indicated in the way the bull python ate the rat at last night's snake kissing ceremony. it is yet to be seen if oral robert's university withdraws the scholarship. jim and jack are both doing fine, after
agreeing that darts are not a good substitute for acupuncture.
( i cheated. that was 20)
(2/7/07 4:40 pm)
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adhd ADd
nothing sticks. a jet, always a jet
slides down the sky over a runway rubber
tires like in the cars, representing people
signifying lives, hundreds i encounter
every morning like that toyota, a red
so faded it's pink. recursive back to my hoopdy
sputtering on 3 cylinders along these moving streets.
the morning flies by. one task, then another.
i pick up boards in the elevator area, a power supply
then chip calls with a door problem. no lawsuit this time
but dayum can we fix this? i direct him
to sales, thence to engineering. i just repair
the damage, if you want a redesing you have to speak
with the gods.
*
this company i'm on hold with
uses a celebrity message servoice
rodney dangerfield & doc brown,
really out there jazz. our hold music's
classical. yesterday a cust had santana
while i was holding. i asked them to put me
back on hold till the song was finished.
*
message truncated
Unregistered User
(2/22/07 12:26 pm)
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story of zero
i was a blur
you rubbed me out
a placeholder for the gathering rain.
the cold hole
seedless
not beyond
death but beside it.
holding like a baby
a blank mirror in a blank
sky dotted with whispers.
ezOP
(2/19/07 2:01 am)
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not with flood i saw the glacier slice slide
seasonal across our bow
before falling in, waving in
water's cold embrace
sister, brother do you see
how much i'm loving this?
you stood on farther shores
wailing in typhoon glory and the bitten
snow of summer, the winter of skimboards
all this was yours to command
the way the pedal introduced distortion
a controlled descent into flickery
fusilades, and ho, there's jimmy
with his axe in a sack gonna show us how it's done
this bombardment run. who rules the air
this poduction of alien saviour or was that only
savior faire? who cares.
reading on israel's current state of depression
makes one realize the precariousness
involved in trying to ammend a wrong
and global warming is the boogey man
we created in crayon bright strips, hung on the fridge
the a/c's limned hum preserving for a moment
the beauty of a dozen roses, arranged
fragrentless on the table. and you know the quality
duck and vegan side dishes, the poshness of totally organic
chemical free as we can be. my face
at the window , outside watching
lemon yellow lights, buttery squares of it falling
on the grass at my feet, it draws me like perfume
toward the light and i jump she jumps when i see him
standing there in the yard and she put
her hand to her throat, turned to the guests
let me show you the lovely gold and red brocade
drapes we found in a tibetan market near the old monastary
and drew them closed. the night got darker
around me, i pulled my coat tighter and walked on.
the seven eleven enjambed in my head
like a pocket full of billiard balls. what i needed
was beef. living on roasted rats is rock n roll indeed
but it was time for \\\\
*
but it was fire this time
the prophecy said. so the race is to the rapture.
all nuckularia , the four black horses & so on.
if the prophecy is true then i think global flooding is gonna be
like the fire hydrant dousing the last fires of prophets.
isn't it nice you fulfilled your self?
*
israel distances herself from her protector.
there's sheiks and oilmen all around
and they're kinda pissed at the good ole bullshit.
plus, their god dont like yr god.
nyah.
israel steadies her knife.
but she's not japan is she.
nyet.
*
there's all this going on. anna nicole dead at marylin.
brit's new look. l lo in rehab and quietly she reads about
brit. fingers her locks.
ezOP
(2/25/07 3:20 pm)
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anachronist
i've written this poem
three times now.
i just don't feel like i belong in this time.
does that qualify?
referrential toadstools
when my dreams become yours
that's a nightmare. what did beauty
ever do for me?
i remember the clerestory of your eye
in a corner of ciudad real, where fishing lines
drew mascots from the water
shining in the sun , spun prayers
mottled with diamond.
we wrote in a different code then, patches
of swirls carved with hammer and tongue.
no one now remembers the meanings. even
the priests singing from the towers
in the mornings, even the imams with their powers
of the evenings. only the sun, over and over
and the quietness of the tide.
button up that cross, fill it with living silver.
let it flow over your neck like my lips, melting
with pasts that take you down, and leave you panting.
do you remember water, there was always water
even the desert had its oasis where we drank
and danced and spent our time. the journey to and from
was where we placed our silences.
the water was for joy. even as we crossed
mountains, clouds became our graves
and we sank there, grateful for the rest
and playing two half tones higher
than the note we left for them to find.
and always, we remember them.
on the white stovetop sits a dozen white
long stemmed roses. she has gone to bed
without putting them in water. in the washing
machine the whites smell of bleach and two
day waits. they have not been dried. there are bras
and underwear. there are towels stained despite
the bleach. there is another basket on the floor.
she has gone to bed. water enters her dreams
and she drowns then rises as aphrodite.
there is a sliding contact between you and i
i feel it most when you call just as i've given up.
the papasan outside comforts me and my keys
jingle in your pocket. why is it, could you tell me,
do you remember, you're closer to god than i am,
why is that we long ago decided to look everywhere
except into the eyes that we need most?
tiedeye
Unregistered User
(3/28/07 9:58 pm)
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time is a liquid dripping down the rafters of your skin title: by ok
i am the hoblin you forgot about
in the back and forth skein of your laugh.
you want to me to catch you there-
puppy scoop sloughing last night
from the inside of your thigh.
on the floor, something toxic.
you forget, step in it.
you forget again. memory
gains the patina of rubles,
long lines of a hardened economy.
they bury themselves in your brow.
a cat tries to claw a steel door, there's
a window to crawl thru, if it's open
because the door isn't locked
there's plenty of rope to be had.
go ahead, look up.
the crossbeams wink.
safety nuts
Unregistered User
(4/13/07 12:08 am)
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titanium charge card
it slices and dices
at 65% interest.
compounded.
daily.
at the perimeter
there's the uv alarm system
and just yesterday we put
the helicopter on order. the control center
monitors ir detections , voice changers, room recorders
theft detectors,cameras. when i go out
i like to carry my tv terror
remote code interceptor, wear rear view sunglasses
put my green in a counterfeit
money clip, grab
the infidelity test kit .
i think the wife's craving
strange and my daughter is a victim of my
sexually active teen phobia
she's really looking hot these days.\\o paris! come
give daddy a hugg//
mainly tho i like to take my batman throwing stars
dress in my ninja suit and deal blackjack with my steel
plated royla flush throwers
andromenda
Unregistered User
(4/12/07 11:43 pm)
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wronged
she was just standing there
minding her own business
when he came up and took her lollipop .
that made her mad. so she cried.
little curls running into the drainpipes.
with the state of the world
he said
you need to own a knife.
she thought about her teeth.
could she bite him and live?
then she remembered something better.
she smiled. let her curiosity lose.
rang up the sirens and the twelve stops of hell
got a bottle of that old janx spirit,
unlocked the door.
ymy
Unregistered User
(4/11/07 7:55 pm)
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memories of never
in your rock n role climate
hair of pigeons
scarsdale dieting again
the perfect fit
between slats in a blind
your voice
becoming.
d
Unregistered User
(4/9/07 9:24 pm)
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bad love
i'm bad again but
he likes it. says hi everytime.
i ponder this
standing in my yard, near the bromeliads
and i little black snake crawls out. a few minutes later
i see another one, crossing the street. the first one,
i'ma call him my snake, sees the other one and raises
straight up
and rushes across. they tussle, make snakeknots
then my snake rushes in one direction and the other
one takes off into the bromeliads. a little while later
i'm still pondering and out comes a snake from the bromeliads.
she just lays there in the sun like a snake in the grass
then my snake comes out of hiding and goes up to her
and they begin to mate. but wait. they're fucking
and all the sudden, here comes another one, from behind
the neighbors house. he stops. watches. i turn away
for a second and when i look back
there's another one. he's watching too. out of the corner
of my eye, i see a fifth one headed for the sunny spot
in back of the shed. now there's five snakes. number three
snake gets bold, slides up next to where my snake's
going at it. kinda nudges them. my snake must be done
cuz he gets off and number three begins to go but she
takes off back into the bromeliads & all the boys
follow.
nineminusthree
Unregistered User
(4/10/07 9:00 pm)
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mathmatix the matrix becomes more & more
ravelled, theorems falling dicey, icey
into a transatlantic coffee break.
toroid on the backburner.
ricci flow to siberian steppes.
"listen, they all turn into tubes and spheroids,
so it you can discount them entirely"
and suddenly they don't know what hits them
anymore than god did.
i take my fishing poles and snowshoes
a saw, some protection in case she gets cold.
in the background, this movie should be in black n white.
and the world falls down.
puddles form in the hollows
that used to be curves and pinecones.
spontaneous dryout.
"she just asked to be my friend, so i said ok"
that's not the story i heard originally
but for now i won't let that be my fault.
i present the paper and take my ball home.
you can keep the medals and the money.
sorry if you can't go on from there.
Unregistered User
(3/28/07 9:43 pm)
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when he sleeps he dreams of bitten
battens, caverns hidden deep
in her eyes. the only thing
left to do is wake her.
"hi, how r u this evening?"
"ok, u?"
"fine"
then he goes numb or dumb
it amounts to the same thing.
he notices she's impatiently tapping the keys.
opens another window, lets a new one in.
now he's feeling frantic. how to engage
her so the hard lines all fall with the rhythm
in his hand.
"what r u wearin?"
"clothes"
"what kind"
"skirt, shirt"
"bra?"
"no"
"is the skirt short?"
"yes"
"panties?"
she's out the window hours ago.
something's bit his ear now
he can't let go
"yes"
"what kind?"
"blue cotton w/ white flowers"
"thong?"
"no"
"what kind?"
"bikini"
"do you have a webcam?"
"no"
"wanna watch me on mine?"
ezOP
(4/3/07 5:25 pm)
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easter dinner
listen dad i say i understand
what you mean when you say he
doesn't have good male role models i mean
where's his grandad been all his life now
wants to come in and try to tell the boy
how to be a man. you gotta be there all the time
from day one not
some
obligatory visit on holidays, thank you note
demands, derisive comments on grades and school and appearance not once
giving praise his momma
babies him too much she makes
him sensitive when he's with me he got no trouble
eating whatever i put in front him you know
why? he's hongry i make sure of it and sure i
sez that was when he was younger
before these surly teens began sure you can
manipulate a kid, but this boiz half
wild quarter child no man, cept
in size, you think you can cow my boy i think you
better think again.
:rolleyes
not over yet
he makes a bet the boy
is a failure he knows this
only male in his line will amount
to nothing ,it's his deepest regret.
he'll die with it stuck in his maw.
&
well dad i say
i think he has a good heart
and a good head. he's not a typical boy.
i don't particularly think that forcing
a child into something which seems to offer no redeeming value
is the only way to do things. and anyway
i do that all year long during school. it's a battle
as you know since your granddaughter quit
as soon as she could, tired of the war.
ready to get into that E conomy. now she regrets it, we all
talk him up on skool and he's committed to seriously
sticking with it. i hope a summer of absolute boring sloth
will entice him as no other cosumer bauble seems to i mean the boy
just don't care about money -i used
to get so bored come the end of vacation.
nothing to do. no one to do it with. all my friends
off to a camp or the beach or vegomatix like me
overdosing on tv and comic books wrapped in the days of our lives
little swaddling ducks tucked into a downy nest cuz
soon enough the wings get to itching and the spine calls out
for stretch and no one can stop the fever of flight.
so i think i'll let him stay home this summer. maybe next year
he'll be more interested in money, you can have him when
when he knows this nest is always his, wherever he goes.
ezOP
(3/25/07 10:00 pm)
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heroin bob sleeps in her bed quotes peter pan while filling out
his class schedule. do i really need to take statistics
for criminology, man? albino tony's dyed his hair
black but his skin is still the color of floyd, the hairless rat.
but you're the one with his cock in your mouth spills
out of the room. the door is open.
she sleeps in her brother's bed. in a different
room. the pipe goes round n round. please don't wake
her up, the lover pleads. she gets really mean.
puppies and kittens run thru the house.
when politx begin heroin bob stutters a vapid
response. the pipe gores round
and round. the bonfire was a bust.
the party on the beach was not as sure a thing
as the ratio promised. and you
want to go back to that. carry your penny
in your pocket. the boiz having burnt
the days ration of weed say goodnite ,
drive the black geo to the west where a star winks
at a slice of virgin moon.
her bed...
i dunno, it's really kind of tame. it's the lens i used to photograf it, i think. there's no actual sex going on...
lol, and i believe that's part of the problems
it's kind of odd that these kids would be discussing politix
anyway cuz they're sorta apathetic. heroin bob, named after
the character in slc punk, actually is going to go to school to study criminology. he wants to be a cop, tells stories about shrooming in pasco county, knows how much a hit of acid runs, could get you e if that's what you want. hmmm. and where does my girl know them from? now i'm getting paranoid. his hair is short, his dad's somewhere absently supporting him. he wears a tshirt that says i lie to girls. i bet he wishes it would say i lie with girls. albino tony is quietly tagging along. floyd is a rat, and then there's the snake. meanwhile my daughter sleeps on, steals the change from the laundry room, dirtys the kitchen then pretends like it never happend. the lover is perhaps peripheral, except she knows heroin bob. the pipe only holds approved tobacco and other natural products. the cock comment was said by albino tony in a late discussion of porn. or something like that.
ezOP
(4/16/07 6:27 pm)
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the drum and drang thirteen: one of them is not allowed
to watch american pie, wheedles for permission
only he can grant.
i send them outside for a coke. when they come back
they grab skateboards, banging mock battles against
the side of the house from the porch.
a thick stripe of sun cuts across the, trailer in back
bright but cool, lemonade.
the sun's sinking slow as the last days of school.
not too many of these days left, the clouds whisper
as glacier melt winds whip over the land
ezOP
(4/18/07 3:14 pm)
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zombie luv
the couch is made of staples.
all at once voices erupt like a flock
and the beep in the background begins
don't fret, the gator's there
even if you don't see it today.
decay seeps thru jaws complete
with razor, it keeps
lurching foward powered by mundane voodoo.
come to my heart my melting
love. put your fingers in the valves.
now squeeze.
ezOP
(4/18/07 4:28 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del
Re: .. requited in the way retribution sings
song of the almost dead. the only things
pussing thru are splinters of the bones you chew
i didn't know it felt so light to be mouthground, mothhound,
bay at the skinbound for a sight that takes sin down
a peg or two and turns it bright for me n you.
now stumbling along in a b move
a bee movie , stingers at the ready iit's coming
apart at the seems, like licorice eyes and mealworm dreams
i'll meet you at the necro stream
ezOP
(4/20/07 11:03 am)
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SliGHtLY morE RevealED THaN you weRe 420 pre celebratory celebration
the guitar is acid steel on mangoes
over on the screen words form
from the cat nEUterer's ginger fingers.
one boy sleeps in a subliminal horizon
built of hogwart's and lowering math expectations.
he sees patterns in everything
then they begin to scatter and reform
like dali exploring atoms.
the chinese match maker has spoken.
one match is good
one match is marginal
and this match is for the trees in the wake.
time followed its usual path.
things grew and then
you were disappeared
Your butterfly mouths
So funny .
*
dragons and rabbits
pigs and rats
there's a dog asleep on the futon
and sid the vicious cat
has been fixed. today we helped a bitch
get pregnant. the stud has a.d.d. and couldn't
hit the hole so we put them both in the room
her ass in his face and a plastic bag to catch the semen.
tonite it's not like that, john lennon's imagine
helps put out the fire and anything seems possible.
nostalgia has not yet entered the room.
the car doors are open, the road is wide.
we dont even know we're young , we're almost twenty.
&
just press play.
the mazy starz in the player
he's got his rainbow puppy
and he's coming back to town
to get\\\babylon///his papers
in order. we're waiting for the pizza guy
to come and roll us a blunt.
wanna go to nationals.
tomorrow.in alabama. she was scared of the shrooms
after the salvia. "now is not the time
for psychedelic drugs" and the cameras go clik
developed and fades into the next
trade time. blew up and six oclock schedules.
shhh. i've got a secret. we're goin to go be a neilson family.
list your favorite shows here and i'll put em the diaries.
really. we don't watch tv. so like, your vote counts.
*
i must have had some sleep somewhere
have some energy left. watching the girls
carry their babies no one lets them come to term anymore
it's all induced & cesarean
there's all sortsa legends on why 420
and no one knows which ones are real
the columbine begins to bloom in the mountains
this time of year, maybe that has something~
none of the babies are being left for term.
&
pancake and syrup were meant for each other.
they were named by separate guruus
met later at a gathering of alternative lifestyle
they're getting married at the nationals on 420
when i wanted to drop out
you were in the thirties
the ashtrays drop to the floor
\happy 420/
the perfect plan is that in OUR apartment.
next year we're gonna
make it a ny eve party
get a firework in the shape of a pot leaf
i found an apartment on armenia
for 600 bucks a month, 2 br. do you realize
how much weed we can smoke ?
these days the incoherence comes covered with skin.
no blunt celebratory celebration.
the carcasses of three royal blunt cigars, strawberry
littering the trays. a pile of regs waits. he rolls
a twisted torpedo looking thing but it falls
apart before we can smoke it
well
he says to her
show us how black you are
you roll the blunt
shut up you jew!
she snaps back.
*
we share the first bowl of the day
while the kike and the nigger
go to the circle k for a honey blunt
*
if those kids in the classroom had banned together
to tackle that guy he'd be dead and more of them
would be alive. this is what comes from splintering.
*
a nigga rican & a jew come back from
the store loaded with slurpees, blunts, papers and snowballs.
he forgot the little debbie's.
i know why black guys can roll such good blunts
they got big hands. he says. as the blunt begins to disintegrate
again. the catnip comes out of hiding .
things begin to fall aprt. he's stressing out. there's fuck
flying. he's freaking. the cat bats the ball all over the floor.
it flies superbally past her head. there's hers and hims and hymns.
this is the tyme and laughter wipes out the angst.
what's dying now? some place i've never been yet.
well that's what we have
the patch for. the blunt comes
together. sid the vicious cat sticks
his head deeply into the catnip bag.
junkie
ookie sniffs in disdain, licks his tail.
the blunt dries. we're an hour behind
so we need to light another bowl.
sid eats the nip from the floor.
his eye begins to twitch.
\
*
where's the bowl? the blunt's still drying.
i'll just snap up a joint with what fell out of the blunt.
they stick the bag in his face again. he's such a crackhead.
he rolls over and meows. she fucks with the nip
and he puts his paw over to protect it.
he's so stoned he doesn't know how much he spilled.
flashback to the eighties, rails of coke on the rails
rail thin girls with white powder traces.
floyd the albino hairless rat
comes out, he likes to get high.
she puts him on the floor next to ookie the cat
who sidles away,
sid's too stoned to care.
she blows smoke in his face.
he's pink and blind.
i looked in the mirror tonite.
got a glimpse of the skin on my inner thigh.
looks like floyd's skin.
the blunt is dry. because the jew rolled
it the nigger gets to light it. saweet honey
fills the room. we pull up youtube
how to roll a blunt. nice smooth transitional hipbop soundtrack.
but look, he's got bigger hands. he sez
still, ya gotta practice it. she does.
richard sends a message from the outskirts of the rainbow
to the denizens of babylon to which he is returning.
h/ i /g/ h
h/ i/ g/ h ? she queries
yr such a stoner says the rest of the room
when she smiles as she gets it.
numbers are a way of representing an aggregate of ones
but you know it's just a shell game from quarks on up.
hey did you skip me again.
she says. from the other side of the screen.
don't forget to skip the nigger
her lover smiles. oopsy i mean don't skip the nigger.
the floyd creeps closer. pink
loose skin and red
beady eyes. i choke
on the honey. i'm not as young
as the rest of the you.
it's late and i'm sick.
the mattress yearns for the feel of my skin.
a moaning frog.
dragons on the telephone,
detailing worship.
sliding into desires voice.
every one waiting to be immortal.
Edited by: trashpo at: 4/20/07 1:35 pm
ezOP
(4/20/07 1:41 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del
Re: SliGHtLY morE RevealED THaN you weRe well scarey..
in our house we're talking about race/racism.
how it crops up and not owned or overcome if hidden
and we were being hyperbolic and outre and purposely offensive a la the best of the envelope pushers
o lenny bruce o george carlin o richard pryor
and i axed them, cuz they're the young
they're the inheritors of this
should i put it in? and they're all like
hell ya....!
and it's so funny cuz i never think of her as black
and i never think of him as jewish
tho i do think of me as white
cuz i've got the master's guilt built in
and it was really funny cuz they left whitey alone
and tried to out oppressed each other
and it's all about taking back
taking stock
taking a good look at the things that piss you off
and see what's laughable about them.
all i can say is it's a good thing we're all pretty close.
work print
tight cu a bright dot
in the early morning glare
photons rising crane back
and up as the cloud swirls before a dizzy thick summer
sun, a rapture of gnats struggling toward heaven
on sound sirens and jets rolling overhead and bird screeches
against the bass of rap
then a shadow, steel, swipes
across the screen tilts downward into black
earth and scoops up higher than all the exploding
buggy flight skyscrapers tiny bodies hurling
from the parapets wide focus to the chunk of earth
held aloft by the bobcat zoom tight to the pile
of gnats, still swirling freeze frame at the top
or bottom
of all that was, forever changed
drama queen
Unregistered User
(4/25/07 10:57 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del
this is the latest. it is not a poem. this is a journal entry. posted because writing is how
i make sense of things. and i just feel like being here,
now. read at your peril . of boredom.
i cant log on to my account despite being able
to post registered. it has something to do with the
security settings in this windows xp stolen comp.
well i didn't steal it
but i've met the man who did.
and he knows where i live.
i hit my 2ybf tonite.
he just wouldn't leave
despite my please.
he had murder in his eyes. this morning at 4 am
after i'd decided that love is not all you need
sometimes you need to be cared for in return
he turned into cho . wild eyed and anarchist.
i cna't do it anymore. tells me i have no patience
when i forgot his burning my apartment down
forgave his stabs at indescretion, at faithlessness
whateve that means.and all the money i lent
and forgave, all the meals i fed him
all the kitchens i cleaned after
i mean he wants to be
an artist, a musician and the boy hasnt even lived
yet, all tight in this cocoon that's only getting
tighter with the slacky lack i'm pulling in.
i cna't do it anymore. tells me that my abusive ex
was my fault that dave left me because i ws too
clingy wanted to spend too much time with him
and the jealousy mounts. and so i decided he's right.
i am having second thoughts about dating even.
anyway, when i put i new pic up on lava i'm sure
i'll get much less attention. but surely i'm thru
with relationships now. for a while. maybe a couple more years till all the cells are renewed.
was writing him last nite how i don't like the way
i'm acting. how im feeling.
in this relationship. how i cna't stop it
cuz he won't change into what i need
despite his assurances. can't
call them promises . his
selfishness. his need. my hypocrisy, my selfishness,
his lack of trying . this time i made him mad.
i hit him . several times. i knew it would have to
come to this but i hid that truth from myself
so that it wouldn't taint what we were trying to do.
always placing blame. i don't blame him
he won't change. neither will i. he has spent
the better part of 3 years convincing me
that not only did he want to change
but that he would. but never did.
never did never did.
neither did the ex.
dave was a different story.
heh, i can finally relate to what he felt for me.
love, tinged with foreknowlege of disaster
knowing that forever is function of disaster & impermance
waits for all of it, nameless, fluttering on the battle's
edge.
anyway. i gotta go to sleep now.
better lock my doors.
drama victim
Unregistered User
(4/26/07 10:40 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del
from the stolen laptop so he calls tonite and says his hearing is permanently
damaged from the bitch slap that landed on his ear.
what do you think i should do?
i'd go to the doctor and have that looked at.
and what if the hearing is permanently damaged
well i guess i owe you medical payment for the rest
of my life then bitch.
also my son's slamming doors now banging walls
saying sorry i ever came into this world
exasperated and angry beyond hope about this math
he's failing. the angst all around him earlier
the other couple that lives here
were going off on each other. one poured stuff all
over the other ones head. i think it was laundry.
at the walgreens i sat for 10 minutes while
the bitch at the window smiled and chatted with
someone on the phone then told me my anti
biotix were 60 bux . i said no thanx. i'm not proud i hit him
you understand but really i couldn't take it anymore
the way he made me feel burnt up
and burnt out and we weren't
going to change the soup was turning toxic every corner
looping back to the same arguments the same
insecurites how we didn't even help each
other anymore and more than that
that i'm an insane psycho
with violent tendencies he should have seen coming
in fact did see coming as he downloaded another
anal rape assfuck threesome porn and begged
me
to strap one on.
ezOP
(5/20/07 12:28 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del All
the edges of her many featured mouths baby steps on the grass
and cries at the tickling feet.
today we'll make music
dribble on the wet nappy
converting enemies to gruel.
why am i so cruel?
there is a reaching out
to becoming inward. all the galaxies
clustered in an iris
which once belonged to you.
goodbye columbus . sails adrift
over the horizon. monsters waiting
somewhere at the edge of the world.
or gold. or gold you whisper
as the spray hits your face
as the sun fractures across the bow
making a rainbow making illusions of reality.
&
concrete and asphalt mixologies
spray painted moon winks at venus
a tear for all the tears in my ozone.
layers of mood over parchment thin pastries.
a growth in girth and genuflection,
mirth and monk deflection.
"if i can't be one with you
i'll take god, he's always there."
baptist. papist.
()
last nite , wind carried
a hint of spring, delicate and fresh.
my arms were gooseflesh
and summer's white dress tarried.
now the unbearable
sun burns the grass.
i think of your ass
and how yr wearable.
next stage blues sing
siren in my head.
we were long past dead
took off on a wing.
*
dear last love of my life.
dear next love of a life.
dear oh dear she says
is this my own mess
upon the floor. who shall next
show me the door.
8
no ere is impetus to act.
the broken beer bottles stack
like a stairway to oblivion
let's walk them , shall we/ shards
sticking into flesh. palms. feet.
the very place of forced sacrifice
the genesis of work. watch the blood flow
sweet into the pool
at the base
to which i can dive when i reach the top
we all dive alone.
i'll share my oxygen with you
if you jump. if you lose yours
but only enough to give you hope
as i swim back to the top
for help. maydays beconning
conning
con ning
ning
con
ing
*
what does it all mean
he asks himself as he pours frosty
flakes into the white bowl
with blue stripe. it seems
he asks himself this same question
each morning. looks for the answer
on the side of the box, printed in chemical
formulas, with a hint of organic.
what was the question?
each day a new start.
of the same old thing.
taste of sugar and crunch and cold white snow.
get up and go.
*
it's morning again
she thinks as the alarm
goes off. instant dispersion
of the dream set mind.
no. hit snooze. where was i. no.
if you don't sleep enough
your dreams have no where to live.
they settle in the pockets of your coat
turn into money. she shakes out
the bills and counts them.
puts them in the bank.
tallies the count.
8
tired ness creeps into the marrow
but still this ache to rise. vacuum
ash into obstinate sculptures
spirally towards heaven. a place in your arms.
forgotten and forgetting.
&
he sez i still believe in love.
a miracle of sorts. bags under yes.
eyes over pouch. nice pic, it feels
like real. it feels like a never leftness.
a concubine's lateral move.
she's still trying to control the wave
but it does what it wants. wipes
her into water. mingles with air. now her
knees hit dirt. ow that hurt. mist flies
everywhere and there's a pull
on the surface of the night.
he's there. his heart beating.
eyes a possible
an unopened lid.
the kind she craves most.
*
and what of you. how are you today?
i wanted to phone the next station over
but lost your number, just as you meant me to.
or as i meant to. the equations of situations
too diverse to simplify. a cloistered by product
of introduction and voyeurism. a possibility
viewed from the banks of the ganges
floating face up, eyes wide open
but breathing.
breathing
still.
ezOP
(5/22/07 7:19 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del All
there's wifi everywhere unseasonably cool and dry out tonite.
as if summer's a forgotten season.
forgot. forget. for go the dull shine of the silvery sky
and keep this breeze blowing her windchimes
to china. available diner. all the renter yards
are dry and brown,as if winter came to town.
if it were my grass i'd water it, but it's not
i'm only here temporarily.
the oak two yards over dancing in place
to the wind's quartet. i want to make music
and show it to you. i want to write poems
you can taste, i want to have you here
belonging and belonged. want is thing
i have plenty of. oh and according to a tarot
also love is the prime energy manifest in my life.
whodathunk.
my spirit and the influence of reason
is concerned with la mort. i don't think she means
le petite morte.but taht wouldnt be wrong
exactly. death is a card i like to draw
it means new beginnings. transformation. kali's necklace
pneumonically switching to a field of flowers.
the rest of the reading's all about things i'm better off
waiting to experience. one path two path red path blue path.
meanwhile a couple gulls battle the twilit breeze.
the chimes sing another song, a river of sound.
i hear a motorcycle and wonder why all the bikers
like my dating profile. must be the long hair.
should i cut it?
my black cat sid the viscious is calmer since we got him
fixed. connections roll thru his skin and mine.
(5/28/07 12:00 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del All
puttin up walls
system of a down waterfall
is the quintessential reality song.
epiphanies in metal jacket.
arials in the sky
when you lose small mind
you free your life.
so i take a toke
of freedom, my mind gets large
enough to hold the dual rocks of desire
and bang them on my fingers.
bang fingers on the keys.
mothra, i loved you. the way you respond
to their songs. hirramirria, san gassa no. your
primary plexiglass colours, flakes carrousing about
as you tear the heads of godzilla tunes, gorilla moons
nama to nango risha. this is why i mutate
and return over and over to your little island
a beast to outline your beauty.
but mothra i want to be released. my bones
ache from metamorphasis, an isis tired of gathering
her mate, a bee weary of pollen.
i want to swim in the gulf of mexico
with full fins. a blowhole in my pouch. i want
a sail with full wind duct taped to my mouth
my hott breath.
i want a bad limerick to mate with a bad rhyme
make tyme a thing encased in polyvinyl chloride
or amber if you chose. i need a new moisturizer.
a jungle crash, a stash of cash i need i want i need
your sweet coccoon. you , um...were'nt gonna use
it anymore were you?
so yeah sometimes jack
when i write i do lose this packet of skin
and even tho i'm aware of it
i'm not
of
it.
and i kinda like that.
that ever happen to you?
brazil, i
wanted to hold you
but you carried a blow torch
everywhere you went. never
put it down, not even
to tie your shoes. said you were
on call
and i just had to live with the fact
that at any moment you wouldn't be back.
no wait, i said that.
you merely pointed the torch
at the nearest unsung metal
and melted the knot.
i keep hearing garbage trucks
but it's a holiday. it's why i have time
to be cloistered in my violet room
with the shades drawn sun quiet
boys in the next room destroying the old
telephone stand with wax and fire.
how i need time to pass enough
for getting to salt water where i can
scratch my feet into the sand
and begin a sculpture again.
i could be cleaning.
i could be sweeping and laundry
and things i'd pay a maid to do were i rich
things i live without since i'm not.
\\hmmmmm. maybe
that is the valley i need to walk thru right now.
lose self in how.
what a concept. wow.
(6/15/07 7:43 am)
Reply | Edit | Del All
corked lately my sentences finish themselves.
the communion i get is wafer thin and bloodless.
understanding comes in little cat feet
which i put to sleep, like everyone but me.
love and fear are my companions in yellow
and i never have to put the toilet seat down.
did you know, past tense is only
felt in the present ? let's rip us some tunes-
old heartbreakers, new skool bumpmakers
classics on violin, add them to the playlist
set to random, watch the sun rise thru the pot
plant in the window which keeps growing
despite its illegality. i can make meaning
out of one card but when i have to deal
the whole deck, no one pulls a winning hand.
lately, my sentences wander into a prison
made of wind, lock themselves down ,
give the key to another dimension.
trashpo
ezOP
(6/15/07 1:38 pm)
Reply | Edit | Del
Re: corked
everyone knows the muse is fickle.
one night she tickle
me, one night you, a pickle
in her mouth and turning blue.
bridget's thighs rub against cotton.
she holds the door for barry, bent double
from age. i walk thru it, so very close
i can feel joints tense, holding an upper
body that once stood tall. my own chest
caves inward. i need coffee from the store.
kitten food. a shoulder for my head.
if i were a man, i'd take care
of the grey by shaving my head.
as it is now, i don't even want
to shave my legs. so i prolly wouldn't.
shave that is. i'd look like marx
who looks like that bum we used to pass
on the way to the globe, on his bench
with a tumor on his forehead
did you know they tore the old place down?
the one next to the hotel lennox, yeah gone.
the house where i found the kitten? gone
condo. i lost most of the pics in a computer crash
engineered by a next ex. now there's only
scraps and the odd printout i find in excavations
that prove some method of ex instance.
the bloat i float is a boat on a rope.
futures of flakey birds congregate in corners
i remember the feel of you but not the feeling
this is how i know i'm healing.
****
internet writing. i can't macro it out like you attempt here. what is inevitalbe about writers is that each of us comes to the experience with our own method. a lot like...well, life.
here, have a mojito. i didn't realize they use rum in that.
in my semiotic etymology i assumed mojito and magarita
were both tequilla based drinks. i've come to realize my major
defeciency is assumption.
the realization doesn't stop me of course,
i do try to remember to phrase these things
in the form of questions. without the punctuation.
09809--
the pale orange
kitten with copper
eyes has hidden
the bright orange
lighter under the rose
print pillowcase.
she then attacks.
this is why she's named
hobbes, after the tiger
in calvin and.
she repeats this process
concealment, pounce, discovery
until she tires
and settles in for a deep nap.
what she dreams of
is kept in that small death.
*
my dreams are occluded
by desires to forget them
all the yous in question passed
into memories mouldering
toward phosphoresence.
the tidal luminesence of the essence of prescence
proceeded by a ping in the effluviant excresence
this is how memory rates a total descantance
like words on the internet flow and regress, ants
buiding empires to crumble and glow,
like water, fire and air, misting/making the flow.
*())_000
arcane memories of the last bee hive
they worshipped the movies, collected
harry potter jellybeans, the flavors no one
would eat, like ear wax, and vomit. and snot.
when all the other hives had followed the sun spots
to the gates of heaven, their wings were in the shop.
by the time they were repaired, the broadcast had ended.
past tense is their favorite pollen.
they didn't so much swim in the air
as lazy float backstroke. the bayou
kept flowing towards the sea but slowly
and many of them got bored
and wandered back to the comfort
of honey lined cells, the brickyard bordered
tv shows, the pert, pink instructor of dark arts.
*)*)((8
"
we're gong now
to see the latest installment"
was the chronologically youngest
of the hive wall messages
as confirmed by the crack team of anartic scientists
who were called in to work on the find.
fascinating! they drooled
as they ate the last jellybean.
earth's muddy french kiss running barefoot over these white pages
i think of the black marks that haunt you
as if real metaphors come to mark you.
listen, dude. it's only rock n roll.
water moves to the lowest spot
and quags. it's two parts hydrogen
you know. the other third is breath.
i was wondering how they knew
the difference between alive and dead
those that insist there's no
ummmmm. s-word. the thing
which cannot be named. the boy
is caught between evil and good.
it's a classic battle raging within
while without bush clones nail edicts
to the hallowed halls. there's always
henchmen and giants and the death
of the last of what has counted as family.
and how you always have to build new ones
or remain in your isolation, no triangulation
with the motes of making. eh, it's safer that way
no one gets hurt because of you, you
obama of the rock star politix, you harry potter
of saviours, you rippled rock sliding cocky millstone
grinder. and the things that are binders.
*
clouds built this text. admit it. the legend
of water's hyperspatial transportation
seems to be encoded in the way it flows
always toward gravity at just the right pitch.
any less and we'd up like them cartoons
floating away unless someone throws the switch
any more, we'd sluice into that pinpoint in the middle
all dark and inescapable, the last apeture before gone
and
it's time, you know, to let the next stage
be set. lessons on the road to extinction.
just get into this one like you didn't the last.
remember the flowing river of glass
inside the pane, and how it frosts so beautifully
the slower molecules move.
89-09
the sky opened up again
and we stood on the playground
open mouthed at its approach.
the lightning was for no one
this time round. not even the steel
swings or the creaking merry go round.
i twirled on it without moving
and when i stood up , the sky
moved a step to the up--
my new home, the red spot of jupiter.
it was clay. of course i said
to the pantalooned jester inside me.
i took off the shoes with the curled tips
and stuck my feet into it. it slid apart
and sucked me in. you drifted by
with your new girlfriend. i held on to my new
lover too and we didn't let on
that we once knew each other back on earth.
)()(&*)(*
now the scars formed by glaciers
begin to melt now the striated bones
clamber to be fit into the suitcase
despite all odds. the snarly waitress sets
the order down on my plate
and i'm all like
did i even place one? she still expects a tip
while i expect
more of the same. my shoes long gone
my bare feet tickled by the sound.
