double (re)vision

Well well, looks like it's the end, my friends. So sad yet so true, here is the last revision of the poem "Origin." It's been a long, hard road (missing a day or two there and making up the loss), but it's been worth it. I'd just like to thank Jose Cuervo and People Magazine, both which induce sadness and failure (that's a quote; can you guess who said it?) Keep on keeping on.




Origin (revision 7)

I said for her to go and whisper
on sidewalks,
to wear her red dress, to kick
me with her
heels, to laugh in the junkyard.

she said,
everyone dreams of the ocean,
you dream of heaven,
we make love
over beds
of limbs and glass,
and the stars are only spirals of
heat
caught in the sky.

you can tell, she said,
open your windows
and feel the smoke.

I shook, I shivered.

tele(re)vision

Hey, revision number six. Well, look at that, ain't it purdy? Shazaam! One more to go.


Origin (revision 6)

sidewalks
whisper.
I saw
a woman
in a junkyard.
she fall
and dirtied her red dress.

the ocean sounds like
heaven, she
said to me.
to find ourselves among
mirrors and stars, glass and limbs,
she said as she picked
herself up.

go home, I said,
close the windows.
blow smoke.

smello(re)vision

Oops, sorry fellows, I was off my head yesterday. Here is Sunday's revision (Monday's won't be far behind). Also, how are you? How the hell are you feeling?


Origin (revision 5)

don't walk down those sidewalks.
don't whisper.
I saw a red dress smother
a woman
in a junkyard.
I saw her fall
asleep and drift into
the ocean.

it is heaven to live
among the damaged objects
of mirrors and stars.
to find ourselves among
glass and limbs,
to close the windows,
oh I am
home. I blow smoke.

x-ray (re)vision

Here is that fourth revision of the poem "Origin" that I promised to the moon eons ago. How about that? Didn't think I was that old, did you? Shows you right.


Origin (revision 4)

oh whisper to me of the sidewalks
you used to walk down,
tell me about the red dress on the
clothesline.

I, of course, can't recall too much.
the junkyard, I'd
say, the lack of sleep and the mud.
the ocean.
maybe those things.

maybe heaven,
maybe mirrors
and stars.
maybe we'll live in a home
with glass
laid around our bodies.

we can close the windows;
we can blow smoke
at our love.

coleco(re)vision

Hey, what do you know, the third revision based on the poem (and yes I'll continue to put quotation marks around my own poems!!!) "Origin." Well isn't that something? ...yes, yes it is, Church Lady.


Origin (revision 3)

I don't regret the sidewalks
or your face
or that girl over there in red
and dress and dragged
knees.

I don't regret the junkyards and the sleep
and the mud. I remember
my dreams and
I remember the ocean.

you can recall heaven,
with those stars
and the mirrors and our houses carved of
glass.
but I'm waiting.

tell me something,
fall over, cry, slip and let your
hair down. tell me
that it's love
and ask
me to close the window.

di(re)vision

Here comes that sexy new revision I just done based on that old poem "Origin." Question: should I put quotation marks around the titles of my own poems? Kiss off!


Origin (revision 2)

so sidewalk so old
and slow and girl
and red dress;
I want your face

but I sleep in junkyards;
I'm just kicking the mud
in my
dreams.

I'm believing in heaven
and ocean roll,
I'm believing in the stars in my
mirror.
I'm waiting for you to say something.

tell me you're the fall,
that you wind and slip,
tell me that
you love to live to love to
dip.
tell me you love me.

revision 1

Here is my first revision of the poem I wrote yesterday, "Origin." Check check check it out.


Origin (revision 1)

stiletto heels and paper
and her face
on the sidewalk;
red dress.

she wheels to the junkyard to
see me king of
kicking;
and mud
and ocean crest.

we who are not so long lived
must believe in heaven.
we must look into mirrors and
star and pop.
but she says
that she says
a lot of things;

I am the fall,
I harbor the wind,
she says
and says.

Origins and borigins

Hey guys, I decided to start a new series titled revision week. I'm posting a single poem today, something off the top of my head, and then with each succeeding day, I will revise the poem, just to see how different it can become. Basically, I'm playing masturbatory telephone with myself. It's fun; you should try it.


Origin

she was once a thing
of paper
dressed in stiletto heels,
climbing

sidewalk scenes against
the duress of a red dress.

and I was a wheel
left in a junkyard,
kicked

and crudded over with mud,
dreaming of ocean crest.

she tells me, oh we
are not so long
in time to
believe we can have heaven.
but she
says a lot of things;

I smell of the fall,
I smell of something lost on the wind.