except for me and my poetry. More reminiscent poems from yesteryear. Enjoy. Also, writing groups sure are swell. If you're not in one now, get in one tomorrow, hate one the day after tomorrow, reconcile with the group the day after the day after tomorrow, then go on a steady alimony check with said group years from now. Then fall in love with the group again. Then travel to Mars and find a new group, cheat, establish a new family, and die a happy sad bastard. Whoa! ! Anyway, poems from my years of growth: go.
2006
Okay, here is something from a few years ago. I work in an art gallery, so hence the title. The form, if I can truly recall, reflects back on my earliest stuff (ee Cummings spacing and all), and I believe this series of poems was my attempt to reconcile the difference between what I had adopted at that time and what I did back when I first started righting. I'm not sure if I even like this, but c'est la vie.
gallery girls 3 (kinetic gallery, two girls)
the yin -
yang
girls
looked
a t all
the spin
ning
object
s
of
the world.
they matched in
dark
and light.
checker
board
s
k
i
r
t
s
and
maligned dirty tops.
haircuts
thatwerepuzzlepiece
s.
they
both drank
that night
,
fi
ll
ed
themselves
with
pseudo
intellectual
w i n e
and
dashed
dashed
dashed dashed
dasheddashed
da
sheddas
heddas
h
edda
shed
off
in high
heeled shoes
.
they
were
loose
,
they were
clum
s
y
.
they
wanted
tofallover
,
des per ate ly,
one
atop
the
other
,
so
thatthey
might laughloudly
and
CalL
the attention of
every
o n e
else
around
.
sex
sexsex
sex
kittens
.
.
. .
.
2007
Hey, this next piece finds me in the throws of my narrative discovery period. I can say, most of my writing is influenced by my strong reliance on narrative, but during this period of my writing, I was heavily into exploring the possibility of narrative and mere narration. Also, this scene is influence by Jesus' Son, where he goes to the laundromat and sees a guy he thinks is divine, but in my mind, represents the devil. Go!
lucifer
he had red pants and a buttoned shirt ripped open;
a tattoo of a heart pierced that flesh.
his mustache, a thing of miracle,
hung loose above his thin lips.
I wanted to see him charge a taxi in midday and stomp it into the ground.
he leaned in to me and whispered
that he was merely a myth.
do you want it that bad,
he asked,
and lit the last cigarette in a pack.
I watched the smoke lift gently to the ceiling of the Laundromat.
how evil, how cool,
he had a leather jacket sat in the corner upon a fading polyester
upholstered chair.
go fuck yourself, he hissed with a snake tongue, then turned
to stare down a young
pretty woman just entering view.
run run, I needed to command,
but I coughed from the smoke and sunk into my seat.
2008
Okay, shit just got real. Here is a piece I performed at Domy Books back when AustinNewBlog was really starting to gain traction. It was a fun night, and reading this again brings me back. Also, the character of John Johnson was some fabrication given rise by my and Jeff (Daily's) exploration around the beginning of this blog. We rented a shitty hotel room and I made the character and his life up on the spot. I'm done with the character now, but it was an interesting poetic persona to put on for a while. He really fit my concrete period of poetry.
John Johnson’s prayer
let us go
now,
poets full of night,
lust adventurers,
great seers
of future teeth,
good architects
of
semen and pink
corvettes.
let us remove
our
flesh
and sing in praise:
yes I will
be a red
wheelbarrow
cob-webbed
and upturned.
I am beautiful,
o
we too,
blue lights
strung
on
evening
banisters,
we too are beautiful.
let
us be dreams
let us
be
hunters,
let us
return
return return
to
dust bowl
cities
slumbering.
let
us be firecrackers,
dizzy
Roman candles
and
the smoke.
let us be children
touched
by ocean
waves.
let us be small,
and
brave and
listless.
bramble tree,
broken glass
steel rod.
amen.
2009
Well, it is tempting to post some poem from a new series I've been working on, but I figured instead to post the latest non-series titled work I've done. After I stopped with my untitled poems, I really became interested in series poems. Still, every once in a while, a specific stand alone poem will come out of me. Here's the latest. Thanks for reading.
dream day
I had a dream
where
the whole world was
open
doors
and smiling
faces.
later,
I woke
up,
went to work, chatted with
some co-workers,
ate my
lunch,
went to night school,
learned about some stars,
came home,
ate dinner, hugged my girlfriend,
read
some comic books,
looked at pornography,
watched my cat sleep,
listened to music,
and fought sleep.
I can dream tonight of a giant
waterslide
with heaven waiting at the bottom.
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