2 Feet Strands of Hair
April 30th, just another day in my life,
Your heart beats faster with each breath,
Though I suspect this is because you\'re
poisoned by some crazy red, curved heart
on the pavement that says \"i love you\"
Yeah, I feel that way for you but that
doesn\'t mean you have to really act like
you appreciate it and the 12 roses I left
you by your apartment doorsteps each step
how deep they felt as I left my heart
next to the news of the world and a dead
mosquito with a blue and great abdomen with
red eyes (if you looked closely) still staring.
Now it\'s my turn to be lose my feelings in
a pond of algae and some unpredictable whirlpool of
emotions that you possess and throw about the
world with the dictatorship of an unstable
government. Red is the color of love and blood.
Red is the color of love and blood is no coincidence
I think. Late april showers are not likely to fall from
the sky and wash away the tears that will not roll down
your cheek and as my tears evaporated many years ago
Cold Detroit in OctoberCold Detroit in October11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cracked Freeway Detroit how it ached my head,
Surrounded by Commercials and cold morning air,
There was no real choice unless you super sized it.
37 Year woman behind the counter soul on her sleeve,
None of mowtown's money stayed in Detroit,
Only the sad inspiration still chills the air,
Three dollars and fifty two cents change no heart
Left to smile all the energy lifting the dimes and pennies.
Hospital as we pass the old brick houses designed for
Ford Motor Corporation employees; street construction,
Loud bass pumpin' jams from a cheap cadillac,
Walked into an arabic restaurant old muslim woman white
Head band rolling flour.
Smokey's "Tears of a Clown" running down people's eyes
In line's at White Castle Burger at night or
Krispy Kreme Donuts in Dearborn...
Smokey Blue Collar Polish Softball Team at the pizzeria,
A Salad Cheese the salad a garnish with a black olive or two,
October's leaves dusty and the air reeks of oil,
Nostalgic Autumn some other American's dream not here,
AdventureAdventure9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This is what midnight feels like.
Boiling water, a kiss in yellow tapestry
on the ground, against a wall, adjacent
to golden curtains with cracks of window
crevice; space for thieves to assess a steal.
Voyeurs to imagine an other's meal.
Nude walls, dead paper, pens uncapped;
dust hiding in shadows.
Callous it is here, malice sleeping,
Drying dreams on vacation,
My mellow mind's light, nonconcern
as to earn's to lose; to fail's to adjourn.
Bradley NowellBradley Nowell10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
What He Got
1996, at the end of the train line
N Judah on 46th Avenue by
the Java Café, a man died
"Killing himself with his own mind"
Petaluma performance followed
by a heroine overdose by the
salty surf, laundro-mat and 7-11
40 oz to freedom he was found
"early in the morning" in the Sunset
dead at least in terms of Doctor official
speak spoken from these crazy machines
that measure reflexes and breaths and heart
beats but not the beat of his music which
continues to play on and on and on and on..
…To hell with reality to hell with prognosis
his music--noise-- tells you (them)…
in an overcast San Francisco morning brain
freeze amid the company of low life skate
boarding thugs half awake human seals
and psychedelia boards. His memory etched
in a sunset void his attention deficit exploded
music into one big Long Beach tsunami of
love joy, bleeding hearts and scarred shattered
reasons that will never be solved like a rasta
reggae-ska-punk puzzle, pieces made of a
Telegraph Avenue BerkeleyTelegraph Avenue Berkeley11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Awning on Telegraph Avenue,
The Raleigh Bar and Grill,
Rustic wooden benches,
Pitchers of beer and Business Math,
Hot May 2003 the minds of tomorrow
Walking about eyes finally open amid
The tie-dye t-shirt sales, Psychic Readings
And painted vinyls of yesterday's music
Recycled and painted on as the new frame
Of black circular artistic expression.
Vietnamese Pho, Ethiopian Cuisine,
Thai Noodle, or Blondie's Pizza,
Smart drinks, cafes,
Church groups sitting on lawns,
Next to the twelve hour traffic
Jams and cell phoned yuppies
And half naked transients who
Happily forgot that years disappear
Yet continue to thrive without a
Penny in their hands.
This tolerance preached as disturbing on news waves
Is but a kaleidoscopic wet dream in the flesh.
MLK's speech came true here,
In this twenty squared blocked
Radius of hope,
The real United Nations of a future which
Will always be a mirage in the Television informed
Jurisdictions serving its only purpose of Selling
Art of the Onward MarchArt of the Onward March10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And here you are, perched on the eaves
of your fathers' understanding,
ripening in folly as the chorus swells.
Like an heir to Babylon you meditate
on the melting of peoples
sloughed into your flaming voice and hands.
This is your manifesto, artist of broken
lampposts and husks of homes, streets
where metal whines like
mangled mongrel dogs still limping
roads emptied behind the
crackling gravel of your many, many brushes.
Your calligraphy is stroked in slanted reds
and browns, ink leaning from the force of your
latest, brightest work.
INSIGHTINSIGHT10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"See Naples and die"
If you had seen
what I had seen
in just two moments
in just two eyes
you could happily die
a thousand times.
Derivative Depositsthey will derive consistencyDerivative Deposits10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from the motion of lax drizzles,
engaging moments with precision,
each peace a steam travel
on a stolid amble amid lit trees
begging for constance,
begging for trespass,
begging for tide...
and you will be
that disconnected line
dotted, for meaning
in some transitory time,
aching for stability
and a thinner crowd.
the silence of a louder shrill
melts quicker than the pelt,
stirring smooth enough to
slick downside the stair
to where we meet in the foyer
at the end of our destination,
and breathless from the ride.
So You Wanna Commit SuicideSo You Wanna Commit Suicide11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
So You wanna commit suicide
end your life one swift stride
gun triggered sense of pride
prove others you'll not
But I don't care.
Even if I love you
more than my own life;
I don't care,
If you once saved
my life when my
spirits were low;
In fact encourage
Tomorrow I won't
care about why you
did what you did;
Horizon's still the same,
I'll live long and free,
won't be trapped inside.
In the end,
You made a decision,
I've made one too;
I've decided that I'd
have killed you if you
didn't kill yourself;
Thanks for the note;
It's great humor script,
you'd even think I gave
a damn about why you
chose what to do;
Thanks for the note,
those words and paper
light up my fireplace;
Thanks for the note,
No spirituality or beauty
in your words;
Thanks for the note,
There will be no shrine
created in your name;
Goodbye to you,
The many good times;
Goodbye to you,
Too bad you won't
meet me for drinks tomorrow;
Goodbye to you,
Too bad your
Michael JacksonIn Indiana You first cried MichaelMichael Jackson9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A sociopathical man for it takes an act
of madness to feel one's heart from song
I'll never forget how you defended my broken heart
How much I learned to love from your tunes
Where I thought I was the only longing
Flaming hair, white gloves, and tabloid
perverted attempts to make me forget
you'll always have one more chance
I'll take that chance, keep your memory
in me to the gallow of taboo, I know you
you did nothing more than commit the crime
of loving this world.
No pedophile, no media wave, no police force
could outdance your soul.
You gave me my soul
Michael Jackson, I love you.
Variations in LoveVariations in Love11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Variations in Humanity
Welcome to our club,
Elated to have you here.
Are you surprised?
No application, No requirements, No rules
This isn't an institution governed by red tape.
No norms, no modes of behavior, no "trial period."
You are your own unwritten rule.
Who you are is all that matters.
No need to feel embarrassed if you refuse a hit,
You're not our local drug addict.
No need to feel left out if you don't put out.
You're not "our bitch."
No need to betray your other friends to hang with us,
You're not our political servant.
No need to be Conservative or Liberal,
You're not our political mascot,
No membership fees,
You're not our taxpayer.
No drinks shoved down your face at our whim,
You're not our trashcan entertainment.
No walking the gauntlet as an initiation,
You're not our punching bag.
No hazing, No hazing, No hazing.
Dogs haze. Hyenas haze. Wolves haze.
You're not a canine on our leash.
No need to be afraid of being disliked.
You'll be shocked by our acceptance of y
november 2ndsquatting.november 2nd10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when all the formalities have
finally been packed away
in a box marked p.c.,
when they've been stored
in the attic until some later
season when couth is again
in fashion, we'll use the proper word:
squatting. or perhaps, renting.
sure, there are those who still like
to costume their actions in words
like "dating" or even "talking,"
but it is now much too cold
for such flimsy decorative terms.
bring on the wool sweaters,
the stocking caps, the sweatpants:
the truth is an extra-large sweater
that you think you'll never grow into.
it takes courage to try it on, because
you do look foolish at first, with its arms
extending far beyond yours, and its neck
orbiting yours at a very cautious distance.
but if you keep wearing it, you'll find yourself
saying things like "i miss you," and you'll
feel yourself growing, feel your shoulders
wearing the sweater on this early morning
in november, i found myself writing this:
i never thought i was doing such a
Cerulean ThreadCerulean Thread9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Dear irises and feathers flutter
before this new moon whithers
Isn't the sky so beautiful today?
Thought about you this way,
How the white and blues danced
before my eyes, a tingled tether.
I finally figured out why and
You see, you're the part that I,
Always could never understand.
You'll never be more surprised,
to hear my plea but not have time,
so, which I now read this aloud to thee,
Amid the steam of this cerulean sublime.
We keep moments to ourselves,
save for an occasional shuffle or smile
then we drawer our shells in random shelves
We walk to our blank retreats, a lone, starry mile.
The Benefits of Ten Hail MarysThe Benefits of Ten Hail Marys11 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The Benefits of Ten Hail Marys
Why read further?
Looking for something
To knock your paints off?
How's that for entertainment?
You know the ending of this story.
In fact you are reading your own story
While you're reading this,
In fact, you reading this
Is you living seconds of your existence.
In fact you're the narrator of this story.
I'm only typing here
Don't look at me
I'm just taking your
I'm not responsible
Your response to this story
Your reaction to this story
Your opinion of this story
Is what you feel about
Your own life.
In fact this whole
Exercise is just
One big mind fuck.
You still here?
You still want the
Meaning of life?
At the beep.
This poem has
Been brought to
You by God, Inc.
"When you're feeling down,
You can count on god to listen."
"Guaranteed eternal life or your money back. Offer expires 4:00PM Eastern Standard Time on Sunday, May 25,
The Blind DateThe Blind Date10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Felt smile from afar describes this night
here on piano light beige marble tiles,
Inside, unalone, in thought conversing
to a Southern candle about Schubert's
Great 9th Symphony, this Saturday night,
the third one, this thirty-fifth autumn
month, San Francisco, next to Van Ness
Avenue, never uncongested during
this eighth hour after noon; In dream you
still listen in your absence;
even hear you listening here beside
in a different time, day, and bench.
Around in visual circles being
rewarded as such by solitude's joy;
though gifts give freely, a forgiving
charm touches the branches just outside
from the company of a shattering leaf
empty of water, naked…lighthearted.
There are dark coats, a man behind the
bar serving Merlot to gregarious, pomp
crowds; one speaks of Mozart, another
Brahms, but most of the voices speak of
Franz, who's last birthday existed only
178 years before: how his music lacked
pain despite the cruelty of the bad health
that inflicted his dying thirty one year old
ExaroExaro10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a simple grammatic
prophylactic rhapsody in blue--
arms quaking, bones shaking the space
numb hands thrumming
one loud, unending beat.
Polymorphic mobiles dance naked,
so many stars against the vacant expanse
folding the unfolding words
into hijacked, weeping rhyme--
symbols struggling to implant it
in the stone cold static.
Cliff NotesCliff Notes10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cricket leg serenades
To this Asbach taste that veneers late Tuesday -
Companions to a cork parade
Of characters strolling through the vines;
Residential escape in charmed, young prime
Staving off charge of rolling night.
Fetch your pink,
From recessed cupboards, bottled up
To pour on ice.
Lay the tumbler to the coaster;
Watch condensation droplets
Pool into a question
The modern art above your bed
Grasping for tradition, well-kept
And bred in sound conditions;
A sieve that bled until she cried
From underneath those lines,
And you found heaven
Through that answer in her eyes
Shattering shock of matter melting,
Diluting tonight's pride and worth
As the minutes go by;
Leave rocks behind
To remind of true meaning -
Everything at home is everything that's right.
Tomorrow Gets in the WayTomorrow Gets in the Way9 years ago in Open More Like This
Happily ever before I awoke
through varicose, tangled lashes
at the useless morning light switch
pictures of lovers next
antique limps or people
crawling the sidewalks
on wheelchairs all washed
by the rings of rush.
Yesterday now only throbs;
left but only a gallowed memory.
Why do I feel like the ghost
grim, vultures of fate already
Why can't I be a vulture
coveted with sustain
as opposed to flesh
that eventually stains?
The Hypocrisy TrapThe Hypocrisy Trap10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We're all hypocrites, eventually.
I'm no exception. Spoke to a
friend the other day about
a poultry company that I was
assigned at work to audit.
II. Corporate Greed and Inhumanities
We spoke of how corporations always
focus on the profit. The bottom
line so to speak. Companies, like this
poultry corporation portray in commercials
how fresh and how wonderful of a life the
chicken products we eat from them have.
III. Reality: Chicken Concentration Camps
I had to evaluate the chicken wastes
process at this corporation's plant
known misleadingly as a farm when it's
more like a chicken concentration camp.
IV. Caged and Drugged
The process is gruesome how chicken
meat finds itself to grocery stores
in California and probably anywhere
else in America. Chickens are bred
and fed hormones and are really fattened
up, all stuffed in cages and fed for
their entire lives.
V. Cost Effectiveness
When they are plump enough and ready
to be packed away
the debts of John-Lisathe debts of John-Lisa10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We are the debts of John-Lisa.
Enter past mailboxes nailed shut
or just ignored. Step by oil marks staining
the sidewalk in slick tailpipe drips,
framed by rails in dead-brain paint.
Scrape your shoe on our welcome,
cheque your tricks at the door.
on our upholstered yawn-chair,
eat our boring bread (coated
in cold butter).
Miss, judge these two-eye-toasts
paid by His truly. Thanks.
It was stale and sharp,
the talking, and each left scars
on too-old wounds. Excuse yourself
splash water on boiled skin - avoid
grease fires. Leave your putdown
footprint inside. Shiver out the
threshold, past the porch
and a flag, caught in the wind's
Maybe tomorrow. [then:]
John-Lisa take a last car ride
to the teller. In a bank, a
Miss shelling mass stacks
finds the key to takeout attacks -
Glasseyes roll flip-back jacks
Hard-wiredHard-wired10 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
You touch me and I awake stare straight ahead at
the ceiling or your breasts.
I tell you "minus two." You stare at me angrily as if I don't understand what you're talking about. You look too serious and it worries me but I feel as if I don't have access to that empathy within me to tell you I care. I only seem to mutter out to you in quantifiable terms. Sometimes you hit me harder and breathe on me heavily. Once you swore at me, hissed at me and threw me against the wall. You used to charge me up regularly and stimulate me. Now I'm locked in your closet behind an August 8th issue of Time magazine and these old floppy disks and some box of yellow post its, paper clips, and rope.
Sometimes, you used to ask me things using the same equations every now and then, you'll touch me so much that I cannot register or fathom what it is you want. And, you didn't seem to like me for my honesty.
You make me feel hard wired sometimes
Like a calculator.
No Train For YesterdayI spend two & a half smiles on strangers,No Train For Yesterday10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
drink a bottle of casual words
& head down a silent street, accompanied
by muted endeavors of faceless clowns.
It's a tired, malnourished day, strained
over frail dusty bones of hours
& as I run my hand along a minute,
it feels like leather, worn from wear.
You still arise in idle thoughts:
the way you stopped to watch me at
an ambiguous train station up north.
You were the streetlight that blinked on
& off in futile attempt to murder wind
while snow raced horizontal lines
& hurried past large metal doors.
You seemed to revel in movement,
smoothed air with your skin
as I headed on. Gave shelter
to a misplaced thought & lost another
in muddy puddles behind my temples,
aching now, condensed for spare.
The smell of old liquor & masculinity
still lingers in my nostrils' memory.
You asked for clarity in all I said
out of spite & I couldn't find the words.
Shreds of sentence fragments tasted bitter
& I washed them down with another