Tag: Poetry

I’ll Take the Bus

I can accept the breeze 

believe that it is air

air enough for me to breathe

makes me cleaner

so I’m so sure of my belongings too, standing still

XOXOed as a shameful that can’t wake up

running, keep on running XOXOed incapable of a tabla rasa

Sures I’ll make sure everyone close to me is aware of Power.

We won’t depend on a riot or one singular revelation

sharpen, as dull as cutlasses

as bright as misguised bullets, exploding from a Yankee’s Rebel…

I will depend on your selfishness

your eager pretense of wanting to care

but not caring really

I will depend on your indiscretion

as you believe it’s all dependant on what you feel

as what you want, doesn’t, isn’t in my existence

right now or ever

when you think it’s time to stop

when you have your fools to dance around your mirror

and muddy consideration?

yourself reflected fully flush, pandered around your peers

you never consider anything else

Yeah!

when tomorrow is just tomorrow

when we know that our phenomenal experience isn’t as immediate as

the phenomena expected

where Yeah exists.

I hope that these impressions stay with you

like the scars dealt to me for being open

as long as you live

I hope you live with just that amount of fear

living, breathing, preparing yourself for an attack

as you sit calmly with someone’s else’s blood on your shit: maybe it’s your own

wishing they were gone

as you sit and wait for Yes

to magically appear?

I’m still going to have Metal beating through me tomorrow

I’m still going to text my lover, I heart yous, and still be under-represented

infected with insanity, perversion, illegality

until I’ve been completely molded into something accustomed

I, continues, growing into a form

a persuasion for pettiness

and oh, I thank you God for my nose, eyes, and ears

because I couldn’t have reckoned without them

I couldn’t have survived this Love

Live Reading

It’s weird how things happen. It was only a few weeks ago that Paul recommended I read some of my poetry, and then I was asked to read on whfr.org.

The program will be streaming live from 1-7pm this Sunday, November 9. If you miss it, I should have the mp3 soon to post.

Live music and readings. I’m on at 3:30pm. Check it out.

tcboyle_whfr

Funny

When is it okay for a silly old goat to grope your breast?

Is it when the likely hood of him being straight is very slim?

Does it make it completely okay for a gay man to cop a feel

when he isn’t your sweetheart, he’s hardly ever going to be one of those crushes you have

you ever have, over someone you admire enough for a drunkard moment to happen?

No, it’s never going be any of those mornings after having a dream

a very wet dream, when awkwardness is a foreground for possibilities…

When does familiarity become too euphonized as funny, crazy, oh he’s just a silly old man, I know him, I know what he meant? An exercise in excusing how it didn’t meant to make me feel. 

I really hope this rule could pass onto me, when I’m a silly old goat, “that… guy”

parading my charm

I’m Not You

Invisible

is when you can’t

participate with “others”

even when you’re around them

and they’re your friend

your lover

when you can’t participate

in their somewhat familiar

histories: A thread that even excludes you

with their exclusive far right, far left

a middle that clasps at the center, that still feels compelled to dance to your music

but never knows why it has any options

 

Invisible

is when you can’t vote

even when you pay taxes, and you’re not a felon

and you fear going to see a physician

for GYNO visits: even when you have access

you fear talking about your issues

because it makes your situation vulnerable

to inquisitioned as a witch, a terrorist

a witch terrorist

and they tell you to join a group

This is the Sense:Worship!

We only have weekends together

because that is the time we believe allowed for us to have sex

to become familiar again

yeah we have during the wee hours, between 8pm and 12am, during the week’s hours

and the minutes we spend talking to each other, through the visceral space of nothing

we could spend that time typing a memo, haunting a bait 

so as to secure our membership towards the work force, and wait for something secure

it rents with worry, and the food, we feel guilty eating, the clothing we dream dressing into 

when the season changes it’s no inconsequence at all

but, together at last…

Hypnotized

smoking too much on a promise…

drinking too much on a rhyme

pulsating on broken associations

looping on the first dulled shock

shattered into millions of misdirected dulled messages

aligthing unresolved triggers, ablazed

breathing a familar piece, a place

that touches on knowing too much

smelling the same sentiment

presenting incomplete, repeatedly

seeing the same kaleidoscopic sky

clapping the same kinetic wave

colliding with monstrous visions

I knock myself unconsicous

Architecture of “You”

There’s nothing “Indie”, in·de·pend·ent about You…

Doesn’t it sound good though, ìndə péndənt

and to think without conjunctions

connecting

that fickle clause:

the making of a tastemaker

one who defines taste

based on

nothing other than what you are not to them

and the what we’re all rebelling against

a zeitgeist however small.

You’ll remember such a moment.

I wish I had thrown

my opinion through a window

smashing the enclosure of me

and then relinquished it in the irony of a blog

for all to view and to follow in weekly segments.

To hate…

To agree…

To dismiss…

To wonder about…

To trend…

And then define like a science.

What is new and what is not:

the what a terrible to look and to listen to.

The unorthodox use of expression

would have been mine to oversee

because I can, however public

because I obviously need

to be a part of the Fickler.

Even during work breaks

or after hours

there’s always

a need for a benchmark

however drunkard and desperate

to see and hear

of a relentless muse

that will continue to be the ultimate chaperone.

Restart Later

Knowing you

is a flash of flam·boy·ance

a blacken scheme

blacken black, stupid sures foes a system(s)

that lights on count

as you want me to sit beside you

while knowing is what you’ve tolerated

what you never wanted as acceptance

on your stupid shoulders

Words

I don’t want you in my head
because I have enough voices telling me something
something else, something assumed, something imagined
greatness, confidence, pride, timorous falsehoods
words achieved in the spirit of a con
a last trick that buts on the edges of a razor blade
that I hope I will never meet
so, I don’t want you in my head
nevermore, or because I expect You to come

teach me how to swim

there’s still space, room for yours and mine
we’re the biggest liars once we’re cornered
once we know that each of us are hostages
handicapped as all my love, Lover[…]

I don’t remember any survivors[…]
And your time and space doesn’t mean anything[…]
Even for you, crawling on my knees
God couldn’t be good[…]

Well, she wouldn’t show herself
the Devil that she is
wishing the most happiest
moments with a grinned shadow[…]

Because I can’t listen to that you say
what you’d consider as want[…] say if I had […]
guilt will rot me whole with dedication[…]
and it still wouldn’t be enough[…]

You and my family never believed I would live
that’s all I needed to know
even while they
you, say Yes[…] Yes, Yes Yes I am […]

when can I call[… ]when?

 

Vacation

i’m not packed yet. i never will be. because i decided to start drunk and wonder what i’d look like wondering how i’d look like inswimming trunks i bought a year ago.