poems

Dust


back off, unsung hero
take this beaten ego to your grave
no one likes a winner
when you’re fighting for dust instead of a name

run down for a night cap
run fast far out of this cold, cold town
of a million shrilling voices
bellowing fire at the whore on the bound

and dust will always scold us
about the good times and the bad
boiling in the midnight sun
as greedy vultures guide us back

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Wine

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as subtle as a cocaine fix
as brittle as a tick
excuse my poor vocabulary
i am running out of shtick

this terrace can’t confine
our secrets
our wine
we’ll let God judge our indecency
he could surely use a laugh

 

Merry Christmas x

You Are What You Wear

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he smothered his hands
in a dress all tan
wrapped around a wiry frame
made out of cotton or
all things forgotten
he had a hell of a time remembering her name

nails as white as
LED lights
the blues sung their hues in a battery flame
she walked with a sway
on the old roaring bay
surrounded by tides that never came in when it rained

his hands dug up high
in her dress, in her thighs
O the mechanics were art and art that was fine
but a subtle reminder had
cast a brief stammer
as the smitten lad encountered another man’s prize

a flutter of slaps
on the fists up her lap
caused two cheeks to redden under the lamp post beat
the woman in tan
who in fact was a man
rolled her eyes painfully as a mouth moved to speak

“Don’t be so naive-
Don’t you dare judge my needs-”
preached a woman with ideals set firm in the street
“don’t give me the stares-
I am what I wear!”
the randy man smiled, “That’s well enough for me.”

Electric Sleep

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everyone in the room
is clapping their hands
but no one can hear a sound
it’s always the same filigree ideas
swirling, and swirling around

communication
doesn’t have to be brazen
afterall, it’s just a whole lot of talk
and early every morning, there are less and less of us
taking walks

because who needs to travel
when everywhere
is right there inside your computer screen
sometimes the world is not a pretty place
as stationary as it seems

my keys are in pain from screaming out loud
i’d give it a glass of water
but I’m afraid it might drown

so
d r o w n

submerge all alerts and message boards
commit a mass murder of circuits instead
clip all of the wires inside of our cells
and drag ourselves upstairs
and straight back
to bed

 

Spark

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give me a light
give me a tug
i can’t stand up right
in crimson pumps
it isn’t normal
for me to kiss
but i’ll make a difference
for the sake of it

that girl there is nice
she likes your smile
buy her a drink
and tongue a while
i’m just a vagrant
i’m not a view
but I have a fire
that needs tending to

a girl is a woman
in modern times
a melo-drama manic
caught in a rhyme
plucked and waxed
sucked and refined
no time for mistakes
no room for a mind

but I was a child
like everyone else
left at the playground
left at the house
i found a treasure
inside my head
built cities of matches
with skies made of lead

the bar is swimming
with jack and with oil
my legs are yearning
but my heart recoils
don’t say it is simple
don’t say that i’m dark
don’t dare start a fire
with this kind of spark

Philadelphia

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small ruffians
pose under stoned heroes
who’s stardom now weighs more than they
and stands at the corner
of the historical border
where students gather & study the art of the greats

I count on my nails the brownstones
the cobblestones
the heat so strong graffiti burns
it’s profane colors lift away, from brick to brick
to cool and set in sidewalk stone

like a waxy substance turning cold
my ankles harden
up those concrete steps
I am not the fighter I once thought
my blood can barely take the hit

O Philadelphia
you crumbling piece of shit
you’d file down the chains you wear
but like the smell of iron
and the sweet blood of rust
too much
between your teeth
to quit