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.
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
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 . . . . .
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!
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.
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.
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.
I had a dream where
the whole world was
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.