Ode to Teenage Black Girl – Old Poems 2007 VI

SAM_1506

Cute and pretty, full of love
Alone and wandering, here and wondering
I wish that sound was love
But the sky’s so far and I am dying

Its my pleasure
to stare, from near to there
where I am safe from blood and life and so I hear
In the shine of knife, a slice, appear thus here

The numbers match, equal time, every tune
and we can fly in the air, any time I swear
The summer’s catch, feed us true
Upon the dashed sunny curls of her hair

“Everybody loves me,”
they sing, and swing, and stab.
“Everyone a sorry sad affair, you see, one-two-three…”
and then I die, and that was all the time for me.

Enough of eyes so wide, every time
Worth the while
only I wish,
I didn’t die

Time to speak goodbyes, to rest, with a smile or a sigh
and be at peace, or deny
…it was the best of lies
…it was to be alive

11/4/07

so i am working no i am quitting – old poems 2007 v

SAM_0094

so i am working no i am quitting.
No, thing is I am working idling,
for the Rite, the plight, the plundered spite
Can’t see the point of this-that juncture
Other futures I’d prefer to junk her

When life beckons waste the day
Media Whore not of Babylon but funny happy consumer play
far more approachable
if I had monies with which to eat seratonin cereal
flakes grinding betwixt plaque-ridden ivoryscape
Lame ill motherfuckers, you all I hate

Yours and you, defined by it and tits.
I deserve a name on the streetcorner, to step on and piss
so where’s my half of the emptying glass decayed?
Sleep is for the wicked and wakefulness for the lazy spayed.
Its a dusted tainty dainty space
where I will have made my redundant marked pissed place.

To put more bluntly, what I want of you and what you want is of me
yet neither of our bargains a very good deal.
Someone in the equation is more quadratic than the next,
and it ain’t me hun, its best
Time would rather be spent in masturboratory excess.
Or else, come the impotence, much less

In one epoch’s time the hole in my mind,
in one eon’s space the gap in brains,
and its not a visual sense of whatnot
any more than a babe’s eyes are half-eaten fleshly muck
or mire in the span of a thousand goat-things made of Pentagram heads
or rather Pentagon beds
where they sleep with things not of the silica
but of the pinnacle —
of undream and profane and unlife and propane.

Cuz declerations of intent are not ready to implement,
marathon running under the radar, not too prickly or good or sub-par.
Its an overwhelming mess inside this matter, its a bit too lame get any sadder.
Nah, not a peach, eh, trust a leech.

See, its not my kind of scene — I’d rather be a beautiful fantasy, in clean, in real-life, in boring planet harvested spice.

Paid attention, an expensive price.
Stolen perception, what a life.

well-structured, well-thought out, yeah right.
Too dull, too boring, say goodnight.

FOR SALE
IN THE MAIL
MOAN AND WAIL

 

10/9/2007

 

Its not right but its right – Old Poems 2007 iv

SAM_0145

Its not alright, but its oh-so write
Its young and fresh and free and better
Its melting skin upon heated glim
A dash of touch, briefly passed
Breath of cool, hotly cast
I don’t know, I do, I will
I want, I need, I can’t, I kill
Your heart is movement, my pen is weak
Press your eyes against my heat
Please do whats told, fleshy true, I implore you do
Because all that matters isn’t me but you
And for the deed is cast.
Imagine words, built from a past
A past not real, but solid still
A long-haired past of desired Will
Let me draw curvatures a-field
Let me felt it out, the chance I steal
Let me take charge of this, no don’t
O please don’t give me that choice, that hope
I can’t compete, with what’s in your head
And you won’t perform like what was said
Still worth a try, worthy effort
Effortlessly, not really, don’t be, don’t hurt
Just be words, an abstract bliss
Stop the truth, deny that kiss
No descript, no flighty hisssss
I’d much prefer that sad near-miss
Cause thats all the better, the right, the sight
Reality won’t do, close my eyes, goodnight

never forever – old poems 2007 iii

SAM_0043

never forever

The train rides by razors
It comes in every delicious flavors
There’s an empty sort, of tourism
On the planet Earth, o where is it?
Spitting lines by the dollar
They grow duller, by the hour
And I just can’t take to, the waves of the freeway
It ain’t my kind of way, not today

It will never ever, be forever
And it really wasn’t, so very clever
No time or place, nowhere
no when, no year, its not clear

And I thought I had it, all figured out
Until she opened, her big mouth
The dreams all slid through, the door crackles
I’ll never find out where I lack at
She told, she ___ed me
She sent me, a treaty
A peace that no man could aspire
A peace is made for using, to fire

So I’m riding alone, on the way to my home
where its colder, and for a quarter
I’ll wait there, staring, at the phone

It will never, be forever
and it wasn’t, so very clever

Ye – Old Poems 2007 II

SAM_0143

Ye

Pen to paper, what a struggle
Eyes to light and feet to stumble
Nervous electric blood cells crumble
But I want to say something but then I fumble

Keeping wake and weighted attention
That/s the key, the mystery, or all perception
And every clue piles on the questions
Of the senseless lost but paid-for sessions

I/d rather sleep my conscious drift
Floating in starry-cried blissful rift
Stealing a drink, hoping for a winking lift
Of a kick behind to a future missed

Time will slow and time will speed
And so I/m told we/ll want but get the need
But time won/t pause, won/t cut the feed
Instead a dragged out of bed scene, will be indeed
Ye, surely if you plant a seed
Somebody, somewhen, will know, will be

 

Old Poems 2007 I

SAM_0093

 

 

Self-expression is immoral
In these waters, through a portal
To story’s dreamtime, truth of sorts, so
Tell us a musical-themed action, forgo
Decisions not withstanding illegal
To properly impropered boatside seagull
There is no meaning in the puzzle day glow
For which you slaved your stubble step-toe
Not a flow or drip or push-pull
Only a fool would ever be so fat-full
Or try his best to capture feelings
In empty tie-died bullshit dealings
Or forceful brain-tried story-welding
Neurologic
Philosophic
Words or telescopic
Shelling bullets, that’s what I’m selling
Told you twice I do imagine
Sin so slightly, pleasure, muscles, spasm
Entropic
Tropic
Paradise found (wanting)
Introspectic, shit-fueled: droppings.

 

i wanna be extinct – old poem 2006

SAM_0051

i wanna be extinct

So me and William-Billy LEE are hangin out in the Triassic and he’s holding my hand and the sights are cool but I’m a bit uncomfortable–“What, Allerton and little Mexican boys aren’t enough for you these days and nights and times?”–Time-travel is inconvenient–you get what you pay for—the X-Acto knife will cut into the inner thigh with minimal pain, and perhaps a aesthetic scratch or two for the sake of design-optional-the irony is rather hilarious in that when you rip off the bandaid the next day you find that’s the part that really hurts!–All that gushing, from hunting dinosaurs y’know, they’re an endangered species–3-horned beauty on the wall, raped it myself.

The Dead Insect Society has rules and regulations for these things–Please fill out the proper formage young man–I hate waiting in line–I hate doing forms on the internet–I love spellcheck

I bought a girl a sandwich and she doesn’t really care–Axis Mundi of Jew York City where all roads intertwine–Odin’s tree–but no pork or sausage or shrimp–It is an abomination you Godless queens–They will never love you–I hope this cell phone gives you cancer–Cancer of the crotch–AIDS of the astral sort–Swadhistana infected with microscopic toxins–burn the leeches with Platonic archetypal cigarettes–mmmm that’s a good smoke.

All of my dreams are of television–while all of your dreams are boring–the old Japanese phrase–Don’t worry honey, it’ll all be all right from now on–I promise–I’m lying–Hide out!–Go away–“In the correct zazen posture the right leg and left leg must intersect the left thigh and the right thigh–no bandaids please–for all is one and one is not and duality is the lie”–you liar–if you see the Buddha on the road than call this (800) number and put out a gang hit on him and roll up real slow at his pad at 2:00 AM and make sure you pop that muthafucka between the eyes cuz round here we don/t appreciate that kinda Middle Path shit–its kill or be killed in this Shangra-La hood–and the mystery is that there is no mystery.

In front of the keyboard all tired we find that parties are the hardest scenes to write-but then again parties are the only places where folks intersect–Axis Mundi–you Jews–and the drunken sex shame that follows may be no fun at the time but its all good masturbation fodder for later–he can’t get it up and all the girls are staring and laughing–the standup artist is the highest form of artistry while the artist who sit down are the lowest form of wretch in a poetry starved nation of genius television critics.

Kill the Buddha–Kill the insects–kill the rapist–hunt them–bury them–Sauropods make good meat–but its not Kosher–and I’m a vegetarian–and its a sin–the first commandment says to kill the Buddha the second commandment says to not kill the Buddha.

My morality code is based off an invisible sky-God who doesn’t approve of homosexuality or heterosexuality for that matter either–what about asexuality–The Dead Insect Society teaches that you only learn from mistakes, you don/t learn from doing the right thing–Why are we on this planet again–and by this method of spiritual journey as lists of mistakes well then I am very wise indeed.

Limerence

Limerence
– a passive recipient –

Limerence
Flimsiness
Embarrassment
Flatulence, Pestilence, Irreverence

You made me sad one time and I will never forgive you
You’re a joke and you toke and a slow pole troll too
Deserving of perfection, not introspection
Know what I know and shut my ears if I don’t

I deserve, I deserve, I deserve

Anything short of enlightened Buddha-hood bodhisattva cosmic-one-ness

Will not do.

 

Your Limerence is limited by my lies
my telepathy
Your insignificance is confirmed by my trite
my right
by right
I’m right
Your plight has no bearing, no empathy

Die already. Why drag this out?
An inconvenience of lessons not learned sentencing not sentenced.
It’s cute when I pout.

 

 

Go away
Every day
I deserve
Every way

I pretend
Anyway
You ghost, I boast
Lie, Lime, Limer, Limere—DON’T SAY.

 

 

 

 

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