Intimates
Post Type Archives: Poems
Untitled #465 (2014)
There you are, kid,find you covered in dirt–barely call this a kick-up-dust-up.You’ve gone ‘n got all introspective on me,Jesus,your son is dead ‘n never buried. Kid, you need to let that go.We ain’t had anything like a compassionate relationship,but even I ain’t happy watchin’ this. Got ya some wiskey ‘n some youtube,if the McDonalds here …
Untitled #464 (2014)
Do you remember our wood-wind-breath swelling,the heart-beat-drum-beat staccato in our throats,in the moments after you ‘n I heard our first–our best collaboration. You never heard that lone cello sob, not once, not twice,when I ripped that still-born-verse from you. ‘n I still hum your January song,still taste your breath in winter,when the chill dries out …
Untitled #463 (2014)
“There is no poetry in your hate,there is no beauty in your incoherent yells.” I don’t, I don’t yell at you.It’s no wonder it’s nothing but hoarse-break-noise,what with your neo-verse-verisimilitude– echo “free love, free, free love”,I am sore ‘n tired ‘n well, well, past dead. but you mistake me.I shout ‘n stamp ‘n stutter because …
Untitled #461 (2014)
“This isn’t a poem.This isn’t a poem.This isn’t a poem.” Shakespeare always wrote his trouble in threes.
Untitled #460 (2014)
The etymology of me,includes nothing of you. write your gnarled-groaning tree poems, ‘n your patchwork-snatched spirituality, you magpie of metaphors. The breadth between my words, ‘n yoursis the distance between a printer, …
Untitled #46 (2015)
erikadprice replied to your post:You could have loved me better? Hell I could’a… those first two lines! Those were actually the part of the poem that stuck in my head, another version of this exists: You could have loved me better?Hell, I could’a loved me better. I could’a kissed him in summer afternoons, …
Untitled #459 (2014)
There ain’t no pride,ain’t no glory in this,I’ve got these great gush words spewin’ from me,‘n I got this way of shapin’ ’em, shiftin’ ’em,makin’ ’em just so, so, beautiful.‘n I know they’re beautiful. I love tidal, cataclysmic. No survivors. I get passion fits ‘n dream-dead stretches,‘n they ain’t, ain’t got …
Untitled #458 (2014)
I love tidal,<br/> cataclysmic.<br/> No survivors. —
Untitled #457 (2014)
There’s a portrait on my wall. long unblended strokes, like the savagery circling that golden calf, done up in hues of green and blue. how many have I written poems about,my fancy flitting to-and-fro? I am blue only in the dead parts of me, deep-dead-black in the lips and eyes, and skin bathed …
