I held up all my fingers
At gunpoint
to my head
They were counting reasons
why I'm still at work
They are brave and less biased than I
Odwalla Marcellus Wallace tosses lentils in my face
Capital precipitates but
I can't make it rain
Unless the dance is done
Before the setting sun
Sets the table
And makes my bed
Breaks my head
Like a piggy spank bank
And I wake up to
Trail mix of numbers and signs
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 27: Demand
On a scale of one to five,
Just tell me.
Ok,
How about I start counting
Then sit on the hard waves
And you do the same. Backwards so
We'll meet. They'll
call us "Sawtooth"
or "Demand"
Just before
They cut us in half
Erecting statues
And erections
Nobody will forget what
We did for the
world of meaning.
National Poetry Month Day 26: J.P.
The tastemaker's haste caused a permanent case
Of the Big Apple sour grapes
Behind an old oak vibraphone
Pushing keys like a drunk Jon Arbuckle
Some understand
Others need to get carved
Big Meta won't spring for healthcare
Employs millions, crisis pregnancy
Morning sickness without the sense of achievement
If you can't shut up
Do a hand stand so we can pretend
Of the Big Apple sour grapes
Behind an old oak vibraphone
Pushing keys like a drunk Jon Arbuckle
Some understand
Others need to get carved
Big Meta won't spring for healthcare
Employs millions, crisis pregnancy
Morning sickness without the sense of achievement
If you can't shut up
Do a hand stand so we can pretend
National Poetry Month Day 25: 2003, New Hope, PA
Ride one bike
And steer a second
Lost the owner
Or have yet to find them
A warm, reverberant echo
Louder with each crooked start
You can't find the source
Louder with each crooked start
You can't find the source
Before it's caught by a crooked heart
With you they want to ride
With you they want to ride
Setting their spare bike aside
Chained to the last stop
On their free guided tour
Of riverside cafes and local lore
But before you give them their free
You shiver, looking down
"The wind in April, the whiskey in whiskey"
Make another crooked start
Find your guest bike all the while
Is where they chained their own
Chained to the last stop
On their free guided tour
Of riverside cafes and local lore
But before you give them their free
You shiver, looking down
"The wind in April, the whiskey in whiskey"
Make another crooked start
Find your guest bike all the while
Is where they chained their own
So you head home
For pliers and a file
For pliers and a file
Saturday, April 26, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 24: Svengreen
Sven Green chummed the stork saddle n' sat
Earth lights all look like that
It's all alright,
Pity, the antidote to spite
Like that pale red guy, Elmer Fudd
For censorship? I can see your blood
Social media bathtime lobotomy
Eat your own lemony metonymy
It's the zest, but not the sauce
It's the sauce, but not the meat
It's the meat, but not the cow
It's the cow, but not the life
It's the lunch, but not the meal
Not the difference, but the zeal
It's the Same Difference
Cultural Reference
Themed
Inconsequential Sequence
Decade Mongering Thrill Ride™!
Metered, time-released time
Dispensed at a taxable rate
Brand-expanded
Wasted, banded
Winter accessories by Duck Tape
Thursday, April 24, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 23: Habits of Highly Confident People
So I punish myself for reading click bait list articles by writing a parody of them, and I decided to incorporate this one into NPM by making it a Ginsberg-style enumeration! Hopefully I'm not trying to do too much at once with this.
For just about everyone
I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by lack of valid self criticism, helpless, attention-starved, confirmation bias diets,
Dragging themselves through social media, filling out the bingo card of rationalization to do what they already want to do for a self-fulfilling fix,
From confident people, who never have their hands in their pockets, for people with their hands in their pockets are hiding from the need to take action,
Confident people, who spend no time contemplating jazz, they just get it and move on with their busy lives at the tops of cities,
Who maintain focused, unblinking eye contact through the entire conversation because they know they have overflowing dumpsters of nothing to hide,
Who don't believe in the multiverse because they know they live in the dynamo Chelsea foothills of getting everything right on the first try,
Confident people who aren't afraid to take a vacation because they are confident that work will still be waiting for them upon their return, everything is relative between paint thinner swigs and blindness bare breasts,
Who don't spend any time thinking about whether or not to leave the toilet seat up in a public bathroom, regardless of gender
Who never need help or approval, because they know how much work they can get done and your opinion just gets in their way,
Who seek out unpleasant things and confront it on their time, not yours,
Confident people who are not afraid to ask for help when they need it and build consensus to get the task done,
Who won't quit because they know success is always on the other side of the every jackknife line where non confident people quit,
Confident people who have an objective figure for how much each of the or friends are worth, but will never tell anyone but the nearest Suzy-blended Glenn,
Who know when it is time to make a tough decision and cut their losses if something isn't going well,
Who don't notice passive aggression, because they always say what they mean, so if you are trapped at the bottom of a pit, don't acknowledge the absurdity of the situation with your tone of voice in your cry for help, because they won't hear you,
Only confident people can pull you up from the pit,
Only confident people can dig a true pit,
If you cant escape, then it's a true pit,
Confident people who have destroyed everything outside of the pit,
Who know there is nothing outside of the pit so they make the most out of their life inside of the pit,
There is no pit,
There is no pit,
There is no pit,
There is no pit.
For just about everyone
I have seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by lack of valid self criticism, helpless, attention-starved, confirmation bias diets,
Dragging themselves through social media, filling out the bingo card of rationalization to do what they already want to do for a self-fulfilling fix,
From confident people, who never have their hands in their pockets, for people with their hands in their pockets are hiding from the need to take action,
Confident people, who spend no time contemplating jazz, they just get it and move on with their busy lives at the tops of cities,
Who maintain focused, unblinking eye contact through the entire conversation because they know they have overflowing dumpsters of nothing to hide,
Confident people who don't get distracted by people with really annoying laughs because they're too busy and focused constantly improving,
Who don't believe in the multiverse because they know they live in the dynamo Chelsea foothills of getting everything right on the first try,
Confident people who aren't afraid to take a vacation because they are confident that work will still be waiting for them upon their return, everything is relative between paint thinner swigs and blindness bare breasts,
Who don't spend any time thinking about whether or not to leave the toilet seat up in a public bathroom, regardless of gender
Who never need help or approval, because they know how much work they can get done and your opinion just gets in their way,
Who seek out unpleasant things and confront it on their time, not yours,
Confident people who are not afraid to ask for help when they need it and build consensus to get the task done,
Who won't quit because they know success is always on the other side of the every jackknife line where non confident people quit,
Confident people who have an objective figure for how much each of the or friends are worth, but will never tell anyone but the nearest Suzy-blended Glenn,
Who know when it is time to make a tough decision and cut their losses if something isn't going well,
Who don't notice passive aggression, because they always say what they mean, so if you are trapped at the bottom of a pit, don't acknowledge the absurdity of the situation with your tone of voice in your cry for help, because they won't hear you,
Only confident people can pull you up from the pit,
Only confident people can dig a true pit,
If you cant escape, then it's a true pit,
Confident people who have destroyed everything outside of the pit,
Who know there is nothing outside of the pit so they make the most out of their life inside of the pit,
There is no pit,
There is no pit,
There is no pit,
There is no pit.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 22: Somewhere Over the Rimbaud
Empty but somehow
Still decaying
Trying to escape the
Hounds
Distant
Braying
Through the stink of the sphere of rot where
The brown
Purples
Greying
Are indistinct, engineered to stop air
Burst forth like a blemish
Pour into the SS Folly
Set adrift on smooth blame
Making ripples of guilt
Until their volley
Shakes your vision
Until the stranger you'll soon find
Is a yellowed memory
A trusted swing, a recipe
Your mother never got right
Suddenly you feel permission
You drift into an orchard
Reaching,
Eating blueberries of lye
Makes you leak roots
From holes in your boots
Every single color, every single time
Every single year goes by
And at the end of time when
Passing everyone, strangers again
Leaking every single color, Then!
Then you hear what they all think
"That's the reason I can never quite sink!"
Still decaying
Trying to escape the
Hounds
Distant
Braying
Through the stink of the sphere of rot where
The brown
Purples
Greying
Are indistinct, engineered to stop air
Burst forth like a blemish
Pour into the SS Folly
Set adrift on smooth blame
Making ripples of guilt
Until their volley
Shakes your vision
Until the stranger you'll soon find
Is a yellowed memory
A trusted swing, a recipe
Your mother never got right
Suddenly you feel permission
You drift into an orchard
Reaching,
Eating blueberries of lye
Makes you leak roots
From holes in your boots
Every single color, every single time
Every single year goes by
And at the end of time when
Passing everyone, strangers again
Leaking every single color, Then!
Then you hear what they all think
"That's the reason I can never quite sink!"
Monday, April 21, 2014
National Poetry Day 21: To Tucson
When itchless we scratch
The fabric of meaning
Who does it hurt?
Good thing
it wears fabric
The mil thickness
Is sanity
Sunday, April 20, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 19: Judgement Day
If only children in Uganda were as immune to disease and insulated from despotism
As you are against criticism
Then you could land a plane with your social media presence
And he would buy a pair of pants that fit him this year
Instead of that really good year
The year he was invited to a good 4-20 party
Instead of smoking fake joints alone in the park
Maintaining a protective caustic personality
The same day she memorized the periodic table
To achieve superiority
After they actually allowed an emotion to escape
As you are against criticism
Then you could land a plane with your social media presence
And he would buy a pair of pants that fit him this year
Instead of that really good year
The year he was invited to a good 4-20 party
Instead of smoking fake joints alone in the park
Maintaining a protective caustic personality
The same day she memorized the periodic table
To achieve superiority
After they actually allowed an emotion to escape
National Poetry Month Day 20: Pastels, Youth
Pastels washed
Grow further pastel
Each thought draws
You more into hell
From what you've seen
There's no distance between
To question, to quench, to quell
Choir girl tugs ephemeral curled mousy locks
Spilling out her dress scented Spring and more
Hallmark print hips, a specialty cake box
From a Safeway in California in '94
Your new God's commandments on your rocks
You toss them like Moses on the bathroom floor
Then quietly weep for Absalom behind the stall door
Dark spot advertising
On your lavender shirt
That you cracked your egg
Of all days, Easter Sunday
You cracked your Easter egg
What would your parents say
If you tried to tell them
You found it that way
Grow further pastel
Each thought draws
You more into hell
From what you've seen
There's no distance between
To question, to quench, to quell
Choir girl tugs ephemeral curled mousy locks
Spilling out her dress scented Spring and more
Hallmark print hips, a specialty cake box
From a Safeway in California in '94
Your new God's commandments on your rocks
You toss them like Moses on the bathroom floor
Then quietly weep for Absalom behind the stall door
Dark spot advertising
On your lavender shirt
That you cracked your egg
Of all days, Easter Sunday
You cracked your Easter egg
What would your parents say
If you tried to tell them
You found it that way
National Poetry Month Day 18: Disposal
Work is toilet paper
For misery
Misery an excuse for happiness
Like corn chips
An excuse for avocados
Avocados an excuse
For the oil industry
Misery and happiness
Eating one another
So I don't have to worry about them
And keep fuel in my car
And go to work
Thursday, April 17, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 16: Policymaking
This stone is red
Before it gets away
I must be dead
Wait
I must be red
The stone got away
Before it is dead
Wait
The stone must be dead
Before I am red
I must get away
Wait
Before I am dead
The stone is red
I must get away
Wait
I must get way
Before the stone is red
It must be dead
Wait
Before it gets away
I must be dead
Wait
I must be red
The stone got away
Before it is dead
Wait
The stone must be dead
Before I am red
I must get away
Wait
Before I am dead
The stone is red
I must get away
Wait
I must get way
Before the stone is red
It must be dead
Wait
National Poetry Month Day 17: Dayfect
Pores enough wider than a toilet seat
For me to fall in and sell angel dust
I false start my day replete
With habit wax and moral rust
I am pure listen
And ask that folks refrain
From this tired particle breathing game
For me to fall in and sell angel dust
I false start my day replete
With habit wax and moral rust
I am pure listen
And ask that folks refrain
From this tired particle breathing game
National Poetry Month Day 15: Alcoholism
Knowledge is a frisbee
You threw it at doubt
It went over the fence
You asked for another
And were given memory
Which you leveled at fear of failure
And it went over the fence
And asked for another
And you were given mercy
And you grew bored
And killed your neighbor
Took his house
Now all you have
Are frisbees and his booze
Until someone else moves in
To your old house
You threw it at doubt
It went over the fence
You asked for another
And were given memory
Which you leveled at fear of failure
And it went over the fence
And asked for another
And you were given mercy
And you grew bored
And killed your neighbor
Took his house
Now all you have
Are frisbees and his booze
Until someone else moves in
To your old house
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 14: The Manual
Please imagine the first two words being repeated in the background throughout in the same beat as the students dutifully reciting their Latin conjugations in "All That's Known" from Spring Awakening. Or don't, I'm not here to tell you what to do.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Poster strudel house by Hostess
What are you, some kind of booze hound stenosis?
Glass table natal, acoustic meatal
Echo farm to cradle
Lined up between Tatum Channing & Peyton Manning
Out of context monks chanting
King!
Nut!king
King!
Nut!nut
King!nut
Nut!
King!king
Nut!
NUT!
Gender image Peters Bering Straight
Cigarette butt
Magistrate
In your Teach For America jorts
With your
Smoke when you
Drink for America Cohorts
And these children you don't spit on
From your dry mouth and rope butt
They won't hang out with you either
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Every night a ghost
Tugs your riverbed tether
And you don't know what it is
But it holds you together
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Poster strudel house by Hostess
What are you, some kind of booze hound stenosis?
Glass table natal, acoustic meatal
Echo farm to cradle
Lined up between Tatum Channing & Peyton Manning
Out of context monks chanting
King!
Nut!king
King!
Nut!nut
King!nut
Nut!
King!king
Nut!
NUT!
Gender image Peters Bering Straight
Cigarette butt
Magistrate
In your Teach For America jorts
With your
Smoke when you
Drink for America Cohorts
And these children you don't spit on
From your dry mouth and rope butt
They won't hang out with you either
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Every night a ghost
Tugs your riverbed tether
And you don't know what it is
But it holds you together
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Horse.
Cart.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 13: Acoustic Guitar Guy Review (In Verse)
A back story
for ev'ry song
That tells more than it will
Of the casual loss,
And heartache behind
The falsetto resigned to never be shrill
He anchors hooks into flattering throat regions
Neck veins and biceps squeeze out their allegiance
Thus begins the tense white guy
Closed-eye bob and sway
You know that dominant 7 #9
Jazz vibe is just two chords away
Ornamenting generalities concocted in a booth
Staring tragically at a menu,
But through, like
Piss in a bed, and directly to
The waistline of who won't see him glaring
Brooding about how he can't move on
The tame bordello of his mind sparing
Nobody but
The one he claims he can't live without
Old sayings exist to give people with
Pretty voices something to sing about
The needle in his flaming pants
Would kill two birds in any bush
He's jumped enough moons to give the audience gout
Voice soars like a favorably framed dick pic
Yet soulful and thick
It coats the ears with the grace
Of cheese melted on a three legged dog
That won first place
What he lacks in any decent creation
He more than makes up for in validation
for ev'ry song
That tells more than it will
Of the casual loss,
And heartache behind
The falsetto resigned to never be shrill
He anchors hooks into flattering throat regions
Neck veins and biceps squeeze out their allegiance
Thus begins the tense white guy
Closed-eye bob and sway
You know that dominant 7 #9
Jazz vibe is just two chords away
Ornamenting generalities concocted in a booth
Staring tragically at a menu,
But through, like
Piss in a bed, and directly to
The waistline of who won't see him glaring
Brooding about how he can't move on
The tame bordello of his mind sparing
Nobody but
The one he claims he can't live without
Old sayings exist to give people with
Pretty voices something to sing about
The needle in his flaming pants
Would kill two birds in any bush
He's jumped enough moons to give the audience gout
Voice soars like a favorably framed dick pic
Yet soulful and thick
It coats the ears with the grace
Of cheese melted on a three legged dog
That won first place
What he lacks in any decent creation
He more than makes up for in validation
Saturday, April 12, 2014
National Poetry Day 12: Buzzfeed Headline Haiku
The sky saw you first
What it does here when you're dead
It will blow your mind
You will not believe
What this frog does with its life
I'm still blown away
Seasons will change but
Stay the same as you wither
It will break your heart
These four black dragons
Will change your life forever
Just by arriving
The veins of this leaf
Converge in a way only
90's kids will get
Seventeen life hacks
Learned by rocks in this river
The 6th is genius
What it does here when you're dead
It will blow your mind
You will not believe
What this frog does with its life
I'm still blown away
Seasons will change but
Stay the same as you wither
It will break your heart
These four black dragons
Will change your life forever
Just by arriving
The veins of this leaf
Converge in a way only
90's kids will get
Seventeen life hacks
Learned by rocks in this river
The 6th is genius
National Poetry Month Day 11: The Away Game
United in the belief of
The solemn dance to
Avoid the weighty release of
Being needlessly anything
Cutting pockets for
Tucking away,
Switching out thousands
Of hot feet - breathing
No silly breaths when
Pendings
Fill the air
The accountants of my lungs
Shake their heads
Scornfully,
Coughing fuck
What is juggled
Into the clouds
Grows bio-luminescent
Glows the clouds hollow
In the absence of doubt
And what we can't follow
Will burn upon reentry
We'll smell them
Catching our breath
Feeling necessarily everything
Skewering life averages
Lungs and accountants
Slowly giving
Up
And fall on us like
Snow
That stays all
Summer
The solemn dance to
Avoid the weighty release of
Being needlessly anything
Cutting pockets for
Tucking away,
Switching out thousands
Of hot feet - breathing
No silly breaths when
Pendings
Fill the air
The accountants of my lungs
Shake their heads
Scornfully,
Coughing fuck
What is juggled
Into the clouds
Grows bio-luminescent
Glows the clouds hollow
In the absence of doubt
And what we can't follow
Will burn upon reentry
We'll smell them
Catching our breath
Feeling necessarily everything
Skewering life averages
Lungs and accountants
Slowly giving
Up
And fall on us like
Snow
That stays all
Summer
Thursday, April 10, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 10: Fans
A fan
Makes there be wind
Where there was always wind
The fan would grow dizzy
If the wind could grow tired
Park at a rest stop and eat
All things that were not already there
Grow
Makes there be wind
Where there was always wind
The fan would grow dizzy
If the wind could grow tired
Park at a rest stop and eat
All things that were not already there
Grow
National Poetry Month Day 9: Please Describe Yourself
Excuse me, I
Can't help revealing
That I'm now you
Well, you made it so appealing
With your instructions step-by-step
T'was more copy-paste than stealing
Away from my self I was swept
Lost in a reverie
You goaded me with every
Thoroughly displayed precept
See, once I had a hoard of
Over a dozen handbags
More than a closet's share
But when you said you were bored of
Purses and just owned one
All but that many of mine
vaporized into thin air
And all my friends were of
my political persuasion
Until you mentioned you pulled off otherwise
Incredible! And in so short a conversation
I can feel my morning renaissance dawning
Like successful people in movies
For you also punish yourself
If you wake up later than 8
With discordant smoothies
Suddenly I don't get the
Obsession with crazy aunt flower pants either
And my future is suddenly bright
Because I go to law school at night
And work at a used clothing shop by day
And at the drop of a bowler hat
Tell everyone about my life
Can't help revealing
That I'm now you
Well, you made it so appealing
With your instructions step-by-step
T'was more copy-paste than stealing
Away from my self I was swept
Lost in a reverie
You goaded me with every
Thoroughly displayed precept
See, once I had a hoard of
Over a dozen handbags
More than a closet's share
But when you said you were bored of
Purses and just owned one
All but that many of mine
vaporized into thin air
And all my friends were of
my political persuasion
Until you mentioned you pulled off otherwise
Incredible! And in so short a conversation
I can feel my morning renaissance dawning
Like successful people in movies
For you also punish yourself
If you wake up later than 8
With discordant smoothies
Suddenly I don't get the
Obsession with crazy aunt flower pants either
And my future is suddenly bright
Because I go to law school at night
And work at a used clothing shop by day
And at the drop of a bowler hat
Tell everyone about my life
National Poetry Month Day 8: The Worst Poem I've Ever Written (Without Trying)
Driving the entire half alone
With the exact feeling you're
Farting someone else's vile gas
No matter what you do
Pick up a hitchhiker
To share the blame
They won't stop changing the radio
Talking about the importance of the centering of the burger on the bun
You tell them you're allergic to gluten
You're about to just tell them you're deaf
When you drop him off
He leaves you his dog Brad
Brad likes your farts
And wants you to meet his
Which smell very familiar
With the exact feeling you're
Farting someone else's vile gas
No matter what you do
Pick up a hitchhiker
To share the blame
They won't stop changing the radio
Talking about the importance of the centering of the burger on the bun
You tell them you're allergic to gluten
You're about to just tell them you're deaf
When you drop him off
He leaves you his dog Brad
Brad likes your farts
And wants you to meet his
Which smell very familiar
National Poetry Month Day 7: (Secret track)
Poetic thought of the day: Some poems are the receipt of a revelation. Others are the scratch pads set to meter. And others are pay stubs left open on the kitchen table.
Oh, ffffffffffacts
What would we do,
Where would we go?
I had to once
But I didn't
So
I'm not.
Fortunately it wasn't
specific
enough, So
nobody
could tell The Difference
And I didn't tell
The Difference
So here I am again
(On paper)
Oh, ffffffffffacts
What would we do,
Where would we go?
I had to once
But I didn't
So
I'm not.
Fortunately it wasn't
specific
enough, So
nobody
could tell The Difference
And I didn't tell
The Difference
So here I am again
(On paper)
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
National Poetry Day 6: Sentimental Singer Songwriter Review (In Verse)
Never kicked the booze
Never had a reason
Never had enough to lose
He drinks because it's pleasing
With nothing to abuse
Talks about his mom a bit more
Than the hard rocking folkers
And self-saboteurs who came before
Coastlines and fresh caught social cues
Other things that follow you around
Like personal squalor with new shoes
They almost happen, then hit the ground
A life rich in lessons
He's busy never learning
Reciting walls of writing
Just to criticize the kerning
Left LA for a bit
A quick Sonoran breather
Maybe he forgot
Self-deprecating wit
Is almost always neither
When both you are not
Never had a reason
Never had enough to lose
He drinks because it's pleasing
With nothing to abuse
Talks about his mom a bit more
Than the hard rocking folkers
And self-saboteurs who came before
Coastlines and fresh caught social cues
Other things that follow you around
Like personal squalor with new shoes
They almost happen, then hit the ground
A life rich in lessons
He's busy never learning
Reciting walls of writing
Just to criticize the kerning
Left LA for a bit
A quick Sonoran breather
Maybe he forgot
Self-deprecating wit
Is almost always neither
When both you are not
National Poetry Month Day 5: This Street
The green side of a stone
Charges double for the lease
And sells you bleach as well
A hundred for a sheet
And you'll tell them you've seen hell
But it was on another street
So you pass your bleach around
Through your new bleach vendor
Part time photographer
Tour guide of the garden
Guardian of the splendor
Freedom at a bargain
By the time we got to Woodstock
It was 2012 and the only ones yet to move on
Shill their tribal dance school through Groupon
Trying to beat the next day hell chose
To add a dozen to its zip code
Charges double for the lease
And sells you bleach as well
A hundred for a sheet
And you'll tell them you've seen hell
But it was on another street
So you pass your bleach around
Through your new bleach vendor
Part time photographer
Tour guide of the garden
Guardian of the splendor
Freedom at a bargain
By the time we got to Woodstock
It was 2012 and the only ones yet to move on
Shill their tribal dance school through Groupon
Trying to beat the next day hell chose
To add a dozen to its zip code
Sunday, April 6, 2014
NPM Day 4: A series of haiku about anxiety dreams
Popcorn trapped between
My teeth escapes the only
Way it knows: through them
You never left home
Everyone's as bad as your
Imagination
You're free to climb down
The thorns tear, you should go, but
You are the tree
10. 9. 8. 7. 6
The counting is for all of
The bees in your mouth
National Poetry Month Day 3: The Cookie
The ant is hungry
and lost
and taking a look
We crossed
paths en route to
The Cookie
I blew polite
discouragement breezes
It freezes in
someone else's tracks
Ensures its footing
Recalibrates
Cracks
from hesitation to full stride
Onward to where
The Cookie used to reside
I blow again,
a little harder it stops
Ensures its footing
Recalibrates
Continues from
Where the crumbs once stood
Recorded their echoes
As a prophet would
Their solemn thunderous tragic descent
He'll petition every baker
In order to prevent
and lost
and taking a look
We crossed
paths en route to
The Cookie
I blew polite
discouragement breezes
It freezes in
someone else's tracks
Ensures its footing
Recalibrates
Cracks
from hesitation to full stride
Onward to where
The Cookie used to reside
I blow again,
a little harder it stops
Ensures its footing
Recalibrates
Continues from
Where the crumbs once stood
Recorded their echoes
As a prophet would
Their solemn thunderous tragic descent
He'll petition every baker
In order to prevent
Friday, April 4, 2014
National Poetry Month Day 2: Mustache Lottery
Thought on poetry of the day: when I write, I want a hypothetical reader to be reminded as little as possible that they are reading a poem.
Mustache Lottery
Place this hair patch
A tricky proposition
It arrives
Whole pieces
Without ethics or position
It will make your sweater dirty
Long
Before it makes your meals a challenge
It makes children think of birds
and birds think of home
And stoners think of gnomes
and old baseball
His is uneven
He's not all there
A mustache, everyone gets
Except for its wearer
Mustache Lottery
Place this hair patch
A tricky proposition
It arrives
Whole pieces
Without ethics or position
It will make your sweater dirty
Long
Before it makes your meals a challenge
It makes children think of birds
and birds think of home
And stoners think of gnomes
and old baseball
His is uneven
He's not all there
A mustache, everyone gets
Except for its wearer
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Nation Poetry Month Day 1 - Fool in the Rain
Trying not to write about the rain
The important, constant fresh
Freshly perfumed rain
My stylist, rain, I
Each subsequent customer notice
Fuckin' wet heads
I'm just a number to you,
right?
I can't even count you
Unless the answer is one. It's like
You have a
Vanity plate and
Bumper stickers that
Celebrate your half
Marathon completion
And I can't say shit
About your
Mommy daddy issues?
We see what we want in clouds
We wanna fuck
What we don't want in
Clouds that stood us up
Are those your tears on
My windshield of
Deaf ears, because I'm
"Bulletproof" I
Sing as I
Hydroplane into grass on
The dime-thick reflection of my face
And some filth I found
Then stop
The only sound left
The droplet dance
Bereft of my influence
Goes home with everyone
Else
How come I can't touch you?
The important, constant fresh
Freshly perfumed rain
My stylist, rain, I
Each subsequent customer notice
Fuckin' wet heads
I'm just a number to you,
right?
I can't even count you
Unless the answer is one. It's like
You have a
Vanity plate and
Bumper stickers that
Celebrate your half
Marathon completion
And I can't say shit
About your
Mommy daddy issues?
We see what we want in clouds
We wanna fuck
What we don't want in
Clouds that stood us up
Are those your tears on
My windshield of
Deaf ears, because I'm
"Bulletproof" I
Sing as I
Hydroplane into grass on
The dime-thick reflection of my face
And some filth I found
Then stop
The only sound left
The droplet dance
Bereft of my influence
Goes home with everyone
Else
How come I can't touch you?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
