Early in the day, I'm awakened by sunrays
Disturbing like gunplay, hit the pavement like runways
‘cause today is a suday, I'm packing a spray-paint
leave a stain on the L train, writing words on a new way

in relation to mistakes we knew would break us into two
you can watch the news and choose a place to take a stand and lose
dude, and that's the truth, pessimism is a vision
I've imagined but eradicated in the wake of realism

Real decisions, make ‘em now while you're living
Distribute your contributions, don't refute that sinking feeling
Deep in your sternum, it travels up to your heart
Then plunges into your stomach, the patron saint of your art

Is faking jacks, taking back, everything we ever stood for
Laying traps, talking smack, talking ‘bout the good war
You could score big in the towers of steel
Or battle begging on a penny for the steady reveal

How does it feel? Snapped and trapped in a track of looping reel
Wrapped, in fact, in a rabid battle for a pallet of sex appeal
The damage runs rampant unhampered by your lack of passion
Can't imagine a canvas more blasted by unhappy bastards

What happened to the magic? Did it vanish in a flash
Was it banished in a rash of bad decisions in the past
Does it matter as I gamble, and I scramble up the scrabble
Slamming hammer feet like gavels as I travel over gravel

a Memory: breath

cauli-flowering into a phantom

of a bouquet

of Butterflies: pinned

inside a shadowbox.

they hang susp.ended,

paper now, death

and taxes.

 

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Basket case space cadet: check.

I don't want to say something I'll regret,
but what you don't get
is a single bite off of my plate, I don't make idle threats.

My idol is blessed;
She; shimmering sandstone,
Standing wet under the waterfall flung from some above hung holy hall
Standing strong and tall,
yet soft under it all.

That's mine right there:
Standing under the rainbow halo
If you don't know, now you know,
Never knew quite how to be humble.

Couldn't stay quiet, often lost control
In the throes of passion, and madness, heads will roll

Survey says, after the poll:
She's not your half-nothing, under-anything
And I'm the remedy for your fanatical state of fantasy

I her soldier, she my majesty
She the brush, I her canvassing
I the thousand steps, and she the long trek

So make like a turtle, and withdraw your neck.

week one: the taste of Halloween

                                                    candy

                                                    werewolves

                                                    masks

                               clings, still fresh

                     to my chin,

like                                         time

                           moving

backwards.

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i don't know whether or not you ever or not come home to locked doors to find your roommate locked in during broad daylight. i don't know whether or not you ever or not come home to find your home the color of dandelions and scrambled eggs when you know for a fact it's blue. this poem is about terror.

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I AM a narcissist. Because besides loving to watch myself exist, I feel so difficult to resist. And on top of this, have you seen my hips?

I hate my lips, i hate my lips, i hate my lips.

It's sick the way I walk, try to talk. Above all my graceful curves, while I saunter, clear the hall--it shan't be me who takes the fall, after all.

I'm so small, i'm so small, i'm so small.

My eyes are tired. But that doesn't seem to stop their glow, even so! Come after me and I'll say no, it's just for show. It's all below.

I can't grow, i can't grow, Can't I go?

 

thursday, nine thirty.

he was watching her watch her tea steep,

leaves like honeybee swarms -- like grocery shoppers, shopping.

she -- gently tugging the string, she -- coy-ling it around her fingertip

like slow electricity across the table from him.

he was watching her through serpentine steam

when he decided to become a lesbian.

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So, I have decided to give myself a challenge, since I need to motivate myself after a fun but exhausting and distracting trip to Chicago.  I've decided to write poetic notes to exes.  Or something.  Basically, broken relationships is the theme.  Here is #1.  Enjoy. 

 

O buh-bum

that first night,

sweet holiday of happiness,

kissing in the grass

seemed so right.

Every moment after

felt the same,

every touch

excited our senses,

every smile oh, buh-bum,

so real.

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yesterday,

at least eight people loved me.

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Far underwater

in the dankest deep

inside an oyster

is where we find our pearls

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because words are too weak...

because fists are too soft...

because swords are too quiet...

because two wasn't enough, he armed himself.

 

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A collaborative poem by open mic participants:

 

 

Sam:
It must have been fate that Elad the Great started Open Mic
Which Elates all of his Mates at Eddie’s here tonight
He’s done his part to make the web a place to voice your thoughts
So people can read and conceive instead of letting their minds rot
He’s shown us we can use the net as something powerful and bitchin’
For other things then finding porn to watch and choke the chicken
We think he’s Bomb we love his dreds and his innovation
So we each wrote a stanza to show our appreciation

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DAMNIT now my sandwich is facedown on the floor, and all I know is how I lost the words I wrote before...

A perfect night for destruction, perhaps I'll stab you in the back,

A loss of appetite when my lunch leaks out from it's sack,

The loss of a friend once loyal, thrice missed and twice removed,

Be careful now, do you allow? his words flow unapproved....

I'm lying, preaching chastity, my belt is WAY too tight,

And when I'm done with prayer I'll spread my legs for you tonight,

'Cause in my black sketchbook, you stain my pages more and more,

Your blotting ink is no longer just a doodle I'll ignore.

So I'll paint my face and pierce my tongue, and preach till my palms are red,

Because the only reason for my faith in God is your movement in my bed.

 

They came over the horizon, from places we can't pronounce,
with burning swords in hand
and the fear of God glazing their eyes.

Singing songs of sex, slaughter, and sunday
as a walking war-path becomes a run-way
and some still say they're never coming
when their ears go deaf from the rage of the drumming

And the distand land they've come to defend is not a desert

It's a city of broken glass
It's a tower still burning, out there in the past
It's rum in a flask
It's a blank-faced mask

And though the imminent vision of our pidgeon-holed home
Is shattered and scattered into the wind,
on ten thousand shining points of deadly light
tonight, I can't help but fall in love with a stranger.

 

I want to meet the man from Nantuckett,
Visit Urugay,
Swim in Lake Titikaka,
And travel to Uranus.

I'll always let you know that your epidermis is showing,
See a cow and yell "moo",
Try to get the big rig driver to honk at me and
Order French fries at even the nicest of restaurants.

I'll always chuckle at the words "hard", "bulbous", and "cheeks",
Encourage my  friends to join the Pen 15 Club,
Refuse to eat choclate pudding and carrots for similar reasons,
And mix all the soda's together at the convenience store.

I'll always laugh at  boys named  Dick and Peter,
Call every lil boy I meet buddy, champ, chief, or sport,
Snicker at people that masticate their food,
And marvel at G-d's infinite sense of humor when I see a standard poodle.

I love finding the fun and looking for the funny.
I love it so much that I will marry it.