{I should probably be sleeping.}Parts of me would always have me sleeping.–I’ve learned not to listen;learning about it taught me its called ideation,and its dangerous. {I should probably be sleeping.}Early day tomorrow,manual labor;probably grab a Monster insteadfeel invincible for a whilebe able to do anything for a whileChatter, caffeinated, all my hopes and dreamsto anyone …
Continue reading “/drops sideways on window-panes/streetlights refracted in tiny universes/”
let’s talk sound,let’s talk violent cacophony,let’s talk throttle, let’s talk fuck.Let’s talk with piston fists ‘n that one-two kiss,let’s be lightning strikes ‘n broken dikes ‘n let that adrenaline floodwater float you, let that American hue color you too,you’ve got those chantin’ tirades,you’ve got that bubblin’ rage,come on kid, come, come on, …
Two men walk into a bar for a quick beer.Jeans, t-shirt, walking a good foot apart. Too many drinks, and he thinks, he thinks, this is what a man does.Guy at the bar guffaws “Fags!” hyuck, hyuck.Goes back to pawin’ at this girl sittin’ next to him.Didn’t look to …
Hey, yeah,Nice to see you and all,But trust me,—Don’t look down. No, okay,Stop it,Just stop it,—Don’t look down. You’re still doing this,I don’t know how to say it,Just, please,—Don’t look down. You won’t believe me,No matter how much I mean it,Just say here, with me.—Don’t look down. You’re beautiful.And unless you listen,You’ll be gone,—Don’t look …
and I’m most certain that she’s about six hundred feet tall, at least as tall as sky-scrapers,she’s got that old-brick magnificence, and her foundation has only just begun to creak in the wind,and I stop on the road and flip out my travel chair,and tell her windows stories and stories until twilight fades,and I’d keep …
Continue reading “Don’t feel much like she’s older, but it ain’t like I’m as young as I was”
Poets are quite communal, gathering anywhere where words are spread, by anyone. No seriously, don’t use words. The poets will come. They’re already here. Quiet. Do no get poets wet. Do not feed poets after midnight. Your new poet has a life-time warranty, if anything should happen to your poet, play Dust in the Wind …
My work ID says laborer on it. I get up before the sun, every day to shower and go into work. I get there, clock in, do my mandatory stretches, and start on the first task of the day, most often mowing greens, which takes about two and a half hours. Then I start the …
Meh, need to figure out how to introduce spacing for it to really be noise, but I like what’s happening.
At our best, we were pouring cheap tequila into our sodas beneath the cafeteria tables in the middle of the week while loudly pontificating on the meaning of the spoon sculptures of our very quiet friend. This is commonly known as sleight of hand,and it’s why I know we were very good at running.
– fuck. –
