Tag: Writing

A Friend I Wanted to Know

Even as I post a shitty poem, you were still there to support me. I wondered why you cared so much, but I realized it was your love of words that made you so apt to the nonsensical. I miss you Paul. I miss your fantabulous way of expressing the mundane, making it seem electric and so vivid. I miss your counsel, and your rebelliousness. Paul, you left too soon because there is so much to still learn from you.

The Nurse

I turn my head slowly over my shoulder, just so I can catch her doing something else: unbuttoning her white clean uniform, maybe.  Because she is kind of hot, or maybe I’ve spent so much time in here that anyone becomes hot.  And she is there, sitting in white clean clothes, in this fluorescent white padded room with no windows.  In freshly pressed clothes, with clear stockings on, and clean white shoes, she has a clipboard that she keeps a record.  Jotting down every time I look back from my corner.  Where I’m sitting, I’m dressed in red and black plaid and dark blue jeans.  Barefoot, I tap to an unknown beat as the room only gathers her, just her scribbles.  Buying time, I’m sitting at a desk with stab wounds for graffiti, typing to a ghost.

Inside my Terrane

You couldn’t possibly know how much you mean to me
you couldn’t possibly know, even as I try to tell you
limited by the expression of a syntax, I’m left with a lisp
trying to pronounce joy.  I’m only a jester with failing hands
a useless mime, forever maimed by the unforgiving allusion 
the imagination of life without you.

This Condition

Back to nought, an empty barrel for a frame
an additive identity for a familar existence
drifting aimlessly in the maddening sea
on a shore that waves lonely a dance back and forth
with a disparaging sequestration, a stumbling knot of nobody
if only zero plus something equaled an upheaval  from the
nothing not, a step from annihilation, a small remedy for the forlorn past.

Ghost

It’s terrible being alone when what you want, the one you want, doesn’t want you.
It’s terrible being alone when all you’re stuck on is the last time you saw her dance
dreamy, she makes you laugh when nothing does anymore, and your shoulders are relaxed. 
It’s terrible being alone when you have to wait in line for the one thing that makes you forget.
It’s terrible being alone as you write about your ghost, as hope with its glory pines away.

Reach

I’m not quite sure of how I ended up at the latter end of the stick
maybe it’s in my genes to seek out pain, because what I reach for is far beyond my fingertips.
Isn’t that what it’s all about: living beyond the mean existence: towards infinity?
Isn’t it there, in those preposterous parallel lines reaching for something better than this point of survival
isn’t it there that we meet? Doesn’t settling for the first thing that is within your touch a mute of your mind?

Las Vegas

Las Vegas says she’s too afraid, too afraid
my dangerous touch on her delicate skin

made up with precaution, made up of rules to bend
because I ain’t got nothin to lose but the end

Las Vegas says she’s needing someone stable
yet she’s at my ramshackle table with those hungry eyes

with those sweet lips that I brush so, so gently 
tellin me I’m not the one oh Las Vegas

tellin me there’s no wedding moans
behind doors that only just groans   

she’ll leave me, leave me suddenly
my bed early in the dawn will howl for her trace

my danger, my dangerous love
recking reckless will grieve over her midnight kiss.

Love Laws

Can you forget the love laws
and for one night feel the ache
in our curves? You’ll show me where
it hurts the most. Could you forget
about your tongue harnessed
in the Reason of the world? It draws
a rigid line our bodies refuse to bend to.
We’d forget how to construct a sentence
and listen to what is said in a moan
resonating in our eyes, lips, hands
from the pit of our stomachs; speak
a new nonsense. In a moment
we’d lose ourselves in a sound,
like that night, during awkward small talk
desire lingered in the space where
you and I begun. Knowing how to
hold each other, we danced.
We didn’t have anything
but skin, the salt from our eyes
the sadness in a kiss.

Cliche

But now that it’s all gone
don’t cry for me
think about the times we had together
the good times
we danced in the middle of the street
in the middle of our living rooms.

Loving you, we gave each other
everything inside of me
my light says that I’ve made progress
I’ve reconnected my heart to my mind
I’ve reconnected my soul to my being
and beautiful it says

something we should never let go was at my center
essential to my existence, we gave that to you as my torch
and like a fickle god we reined your rain on me, and cared like a human.
We cared while you’re a friend of the cyncial, you are a friend of the scoffing to the ultra sensitive
while I’ve discovered that a cliche is only overused when you’re overtly sardonic.

Love Song #3

anticipation is your smell everywhere
even in the unescapable stench of my dungeon
the prison of my mind of meaningless malodorous 
function sweats an immutable sterile sink
in my dungeon, but I’ve been painting  new colors
over the mod prints, I drew a protrait of you smiling in crayola.
anticipation is wanting a beautiful idea to stroke you gently like the rising sun
being carried by a choir of her voice, magically you land me softly at my destination…

Come Cover Me

With your joy.
With your pain.
With your laugther.
With your tears.
With your voice.
With your mouth.
With your hands.
With your body.
With your…

I’m lost in what I can’t have
lost in wanting you

Wanting your laughter
to echo through my vertebrae.
Wanting your mouth to sew against mine.
Wanting your voice to sing my name.

Love Song #2

My bright eyes light up when it sees your name
I want to sing lovely when I hear your melody
walking through my burning thoroughfare 
lights me up when you do anything.

I can’t pretend even when some nights are just accidents
only an accident, a treasure you can collect by the shore for you
those rainy days when there’s nothing to do, so you can recollect
a time when you were crazy: driving 90 on a 30 stretch, not slowing down
for speed bumps, you’re a drive by, you’re a wave crashing in, a gush killing with no exit.

My eye sees what it wants and is clouded by intelligence
as all that’s available is the ridiculous richness of contact, even when you were drunkard
all it sees is your trail of blood, making my nose raise to the gash of air finished
like a lonely as a wolf wandering for his scent home.

Love Song

Am I only treasure you can collect by accident
for those rainy days when there’s nothing to do
so you can recollect a time when you were crazy
driving 90 on a 30 stretch, not even slowing down
for speed bumps, you’re a drive by, a killing with no exit.

My eyes light up when it sees your name
I want to sing when I hear your melody
walking through my burning thoroughfare 
lights me up when you do anything.

The Frolic

I’ve lost my place in this thunder
ringing clear what I have
haven’t gained, with this losing war
I’ve won something.

I’ve lost my place in this thunder
that tragic lightening struck
paper-clipping my worth together.

I need an exorcism done
to baptized my worried hands together
and into a pit of strangers I’d dive
un-bruised by bravado’s curses

I’d dive into circumstanced tidal wave

I the interpellator
lose
myself
I hail i
lose
this champion.

The Pessimistic Corona Ad

Billboard apparitions that might just come true

soon enough
painkillers will wean
the barely noticeable
yesterday with its nausea

forgetting how to walk
withdrawn flowers
will set like the sun 

soon enough

Jesus won’t be
the only holy one
the Devil’s company
un-pleasurable

masturbating
will never make
you come again

soon enough 

nothing to choose from
nothing to tell
losing all the spit
in your mouth 

soon enough

you’ll become
as the many
faceless mimes
configured bodies
shuffling in a deck
confabulated shadows
in a fish-market

soon enough
someone will call for rain
and you won’t have an umbrella.

Fetish Breed

She wants to genetically engineer her experience
so she can have genie expression kids with big curly hair.

A man, a tall black man with light eyes is her worship
I want a black man with light eyes she says
because they make great babies.

I want a white man with blue eyes
so my kids can look the way I want them too
milk all those treacherous paths written on my skin.

Quiet

And listen to the silence that is life
And like most things it is fleeting
And watch you fade beneath me
And you slipped away like things
And they are all never lasting
And it was in this moment of orgasm
And never lasting, I learned how to live.

Fludity and Queerdom Ends at Marriage and Your first born: The Falsehoods of Bisexuality

I wear my swagger wrong, I swear it on my body
and cross my legs too feminine, I’m too fooled to know
when I’m too masculine for the ladies
while I squat and spit, squirt like the rest of them
they look at me weird while I’m with them but they don’t know
the extent of my story, waiting in line to pee so desperately.

For the women looking out, and telling me it’s the ladies, I bleed just like you
I invite you to see my red blood stains and be reminded that not every fruit is the same

and for the ones who find just fucking around is good enough until marriage
well, maybe you should date guys who are into fetishes. Because isn’t that what you want, a fish with meat?

Too many times fludity is just a masquerade waiting for a Jane Austen man

Galloping on his horse from a distance
Ooh darling you can give me your feminist queer theory all day long
while all that is queer about you is late like last night’s dream
and all that is feminist about you is just by being a woman

talk to me baby when you can’t cling to your safety status quo image: white, the pretty that is expected to be adored, and, when you realize how forced to love you are like the rest of them.

Games

Stole all of me
like a thief is the knight
killing the Queen of diamonds

And you place your flush
like I was playing with you
with your feelings called a fluff

and dance around with a wall of arms…’

but I’m tired of feeling the tiger’s heart
I’m tired of the open of my open heart

that has burned me for too long