Silver flask in my petticoat,
I fell in love with the son
of a flabby-cheeked Republican.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Child in Grey Part II
of all of the men who have smiled at me
who spoke of the sparkle, the rain in rich places
hushing down black leather boots
with concrete couches and smoke that billows zig-zag
between cracks.
I once thought the height of walls
was hiding something from me. A moon, perhaps.
A moon, soft round and sweet
A moon so supple if you bit her
she would bleed.
Not one I could climb upon and get
an erection out of.
who spoke of the sparkle, the rain in rich places
hushing down black leather boots
with concrete couches and smoke that billows zig-zag
between cracks.
I once thought the height of walls
was hiding something from me. A moon, perhaps.
A moon, soft round and sweet
A moon so supple if you bit her
she would bleed.
Not one I could climb upon and get
an erection out of.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Child in Grey (to be cont'd)
One of those early navy blue mornings
in that north Florida neighborhood
the end of spring
where swarms of orange and black caterpillars
formed a revolution
on my back porch.
In those mornings I adopted a few
and in their sticky infancy would crawl
upon my 6 year old cheeks, the Milkweed Butterfly.
And I'd throw back my head, eyes up, up.
To wink at the cocoons in the sky.
But at this time I had not yet absorbed
that they were also comrades of that gypsy penis
and would someday explode.
in that north Florida neighborhood
the end of spring
where swarms of orange and black caterpillars
formed a revolution
on my back porch.
In those mornings I adopted a few
and in their sticky infancy would crawl
upon my 6 year old cheeks, the Milkweed Butterfly.
And I'd throw back my head, eyes up, up.
To wink at the cocoons in the sky.
But at this time I had not yet absorbed
that they were also comrades of that gypsy penis
and would someday explode.
Breeze, listen:
Today the sweetest one hit me,
with his cheeks alert,
round and prickled.
And his black hair straight as asphalt, 1950
suburbia boy.
Dots and tings and plots and rings
growing on his back,
I have to swallow sand
to hold his heart
with my oil hands.
Right now my Apricot face is being held
back against a warm wall
And there is hot beer, empty mugs and asshole cigarettes
exploding
on the windowsill.
I think I know too many people
I should stop
because that's a lot of mourning.
My lover, he rides a donkey to work.
Gentlemen, rejoice with your hands down your pants:
You are free, you are free, you are free free free free freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
things i see
two red trees in my neighbor's front yard,
one slightly taller than the other, stand so patiently
like they're going to prom and mother is taking pictures
when are you going to learn
''girl you're beautiful both above and below the waistline so
that should not be a problem.''
women who ride in the passenger seat with one chalky barefoot
peeking out of the window and smoke from tobacco following
these long parallel yellow lines
three blonds at 3 p.m. sitting in the back
of a taxi cab on a Saturday.
And men who smell like baby powder.
hand the driver my twenty dollar bill, still
rolled tight into a cylinder of embarrassment.
one slightly taller than the other, stand so patiently
like they're going to prom and mother is taking pictures
when are you going to learn
''girl you're beautiful both above and below the waistline so
that should not be a problem.''
women who ride in the passenger seat with one chalky barefoot
peeking out of the window and smoke from tobacco following
these long parallel yellow lines
three blonds at 3 p.m. sitting in the back
of a taxi cab on a Saturday.
And men who smell like baby powder.
hand the driver my twenty dollar bill, still
rolled tight into a cylinder of embarrassment.
The Lioness
Humans are all the same; Change is too expensive; Mercurial we will remain.
Yet you will wrap the hair of your young
cub in dandelions: her name is July.
The soft apple shape of your own
infant face, lying in the lap of gold
fur, your mother, the cleft-lipped
lioness.
Paw through the roots of fig trees,
to be cont'd .
Yet you will wrap the hair of your young
cub in dandelions: her name is July.
The soft apple shape of your own
infant face, lying in the lap of gold
fur, your mother, the cleft-lipped
lioness.
Paw through the roots of fig trees,
to be cont'd .
Your TV Tongue
The ditch in our front yard
Ernest with his high-top and his gun.
Mama apologia! For we have magnesium blood,
shiny and silver and robotic as well.
Jukebox dive, my cheekbone aside.
No moon, but a Brooklyn back rub.
Oh take it, boy, take it.
Even the sky opposes.
Pay pale technology,
them jolly thick power lines
connecting me to famous he he
and she she.
Take it to 'M,' it's the Mezzanine floor,
I'll do anything with you
Gypsy penis, longing to go somewhere
he can never stay.
Drug of choice
You can't sit behind this line
"Man, why do always have to live inside of lines, man?"
You got cop daddy? cop mommy?
Your brain cells are policemen, your siblings are policemen, your TV the sheriff,
your master a policeman, your apartment the policemen, your car too.
Your womb a policeman, Your lungs maybe, may be not policemen.
Your boss, wow wee a policeman.
Your citizenship a policeman.
your apologies to the policemen.
Ernest with his high-top and his gun.
Mama apologia! For we have magnesium blood,
shiny and silver and robotic as well.
Jukebox dive, my cheekbone aside.
No moon, but a Brooklyn back rub.
Oh take it, boy, take it.
Even the sky opposes.
Pay pale technology,
them jolly thick power lines
connecting me to famous he he
and she she.
Take it to 'M,' it's the Mezzanine floor,
I'll do anything with you
Gypsy penis, longing to go somewhere
he can never stay.
Drug of choice
You can't sit behind this line
"Man, why do always have to live inside of lines, man?"
You got cop daddy? cop mommy?
Your brain cells are policemen, your siblings are policemen, your TV the sheriff,
your master a policeman, your apartment the policemen, your car too.
Your womb a policeman, Your lungs maybe, may be not policemen.
Your boss, wow wee a policeman.
Your citizenship a policeman.
your apologies to the policemen.
Rebecca
My dear you are a color unidentified
as of yet
bright and blue-ish, they haven't discovered you yet
what to name you
where to place you
if i were an inventor i'd find you
place you on my window sill
(so you could catch the sunlight and throw it back into my eyes)
ILLUMINATE EVERYTHING.
change what i think of in negativity
to something saccharine
as kids we used to carry things
our favorite toys, our backpacks
our hatred and love.
but as an adult i'd carry you and show and tell
all of my friends
what a great friend you are.
My dear you are a color unidentified
as of yet
bright and blue-ish, they haven't discovered you yet
what to name you
where to place you
if i were an inventor i'd find you
place you on my window sill
(so you could catch the sunlight and throw it back into my eyes)
ILLUMINATE EVERYTHING.
change what i think of in negativity
to something saccharine
as kids we used to carry things
our favorite toys, our backpacks
our hatred and love.
but as an adult i'd carry you and show and tell
all of my friends
what a great friend you are.
Americonomy
| Americonomy. | [16 Sep 2008|01:04pm] |
| oh i'm really diggin' him; makes my hands smile shake charm-style what was that intent shake. leaves green brown salsa dance crunch snap morning fall into wooden wall oh tip-ee toe, she take my money, grasps squishy clouds swing back and forth oh let me travel up north. put my fingertips on your soft, lovely, dripping birth- come, watch, all me kids RIDE DOW JONES DICK. mmm, yeah, baby please, $5 may buy that bleeding cheese, burn the toast, take a swig, pay no rent, i love you i love you i loathe you i'll loan you forty-five cents. | |
Child in Grey
| Child in Grey: Part I and to be continued. | [30 Mar 2009|10:38am] |
| One of those early navy blue mornings in that north Florida neighborhood the end of spring where swarms of orange and black caterpillars formed a revolution on my back porch. In those mornings I adopted a few and in their sticky infancy would crawl upon my 6 year old cheeks, the Milkweed Butterfly. And I'd throw back my head, eyes up, up. To wink at the cocoons in the sky. But at this time I had not yet absorbed that they were also comrades of that gypsy penis and would someday explode. | |
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