Saturday, December 13, 2008

the untitled poem that launched a thousand metaphors

Hey girlie girls and boylie boys, get ready for a fun, drunken, Friday night fuck fest featuring poetry and your girl Friday. OH no, did I use Friday twice in the same sentence?! Well, just write in and tell us that you don't enjoy life, or some iteration, or some exacerbation, or some altercation. We love you. We love all of you.

untitled 4213

to take a chance of rope
in the guttural visage of the backroads
of the south

is to die for the pleasure of cutting
a sheet of glass
and stamping
upon it in perfection

slide away
down the schoolyard playpen

or else

untitled 4214

when you hear the sonic radio at four in the morning,
oh girl,

a groan for me please
and once
lie down with the light on your face
and green lipstick,

oh I’ve seen too much.

I want to be wound yarn
utilized in composition

to knit a blanket for a wounded cat
on the prowl
in the shades of midnight

I once was.

untitled 4215

smashed cameras
of hijacks

I saw the gutter color rust
swabbed across her forehead
at two

in dreams
of corruption the slip
cut city slid
down the hillside
to make

with the ocean waves

you are certain
you know
if you wear black pants on a Monday
and it is doom at bus stops
city mall parking

untitled 4216

it was hard for the detective
I know
to give over his pistol
at the end of his
merely to think
of blue ribbon dancers’
flesh covering
crime scene evidence
exalt the wayward working man
out of his hard
honest day’s

so perfection
it is silence
and it is stillness
and the sing song siren
of all endeavors come
upon the fold of whence
they were blessed
and given away

untitled 4217

hard rain can be gentle
your hair
in the wind
I saw the stars across
your face

when you sat in the eddy in
the river

the love

oh the love

it is a miracle
that such as us have
become complete sets of bones
with skulls and sockets
and pelvises
and ankles

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