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Mumblings and/or Poetry, Late 2015 Like mentioned on the other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why all these ended up on yet another separate page. It seemed necessary to break up the uploads of dazzling, brilliant prose. (heh, heh) NOTE: None of these are repeated in the not-exactly-new-anymore digital poetry book, Brief Tales of Compromised Solutions
Ten Minutes of Murder Disappointing the mandibles of death I had an idea but we fed it to the newborn baby and now it won't turn back to the right colours I got all jammed up trying to slip past the long in the tooth and I can't feel my beard because all my fingers bend away from my chin like two positively charged ions
I forgot to make a difference I wrote down what I was supposed to do on thirty nine post-it notes And lost five of them in the momentary warm rain Which was enough to leave the rest of the tiny sheets as total gibberish
I remembered the witness's name Hilarious from the first letter onwards She played piano in a way that showed she respected the history of her teenage rebellion
I'm not fucking around on the steps to the station Where all the cranks are throwing their hollow miscounted weight around I'm not getting up to the split down the middle podium When all the shits you hope get indicted swiftly across the wrist holler and piss
I'm not getting set up to be put down on the curb What's going to happen is nothing but one of those dirt slump pawnshop prophecies
It was all doctor doctor doctored three times I put all the pins in all the right places I didn't care a fig for the sweet empty spaces I have the size in my hands I felt the readymade decisions Against the slab of stone never ending in the rubber room With all the junctures and crosswinds blowing through the crowds On sand and glass and ancient wings The book of the month will always sing
This was a can-do sort of candor The strong taste the weak and realize they like it And it's a mixture of sweat and exhausted credit Of endless bad luck and history's cruel jokes Of broken crutches and houses carefully divided
Rising up because the quality of the lies reached a new low And obligations look like trees you can't tell from the forest The weak taste the strong and realize they have to like it
Against the Alternate Rules against the alternate rules under bicycle locks and sour key resolute to the very middle well i for one will not stand for all this back stabbing and front loading there's charismatic rulings that go in very specific circles and I paid the good money for a proper ride holding the kind of hands that would sweat through an ice age you listened to me that one time in the poisoned rain and for that I deserve a medal which I'll pawn for better memories
I always start with a real hit to the jaw Especially when dealing with mirrors I don't have to repeat myself in most cases Which I win by throwing the ashes of the book in their eyes
it's never quiet in a kitchen something is constantly dying all over again whether it's chicken breast or how you feel about your family everything eventually fits in the oven
the lamb of god will say anything to stay out of the slaughterhouse but so will the lamb of brian and sharon kelner who had such high hopes for their little one when they proved in school they had the best chops
I got right through the night terrors and sweats and smells knowing your dark body opposite negotiating with sick fantasies and fever dreams following through and that do list written in invisible ink letting the animals loose to barter and trade in the side street alleys
Long Pain Dismissals Long pain dismissals Exploding harmlessly over the atlantic You guess a couple times at the edge of the horizon Look for signs in the smoke like animal guts
Memories of a too solid flesh time Where the rungs of the ladder were made of god's will Everything had a place And whatever didn't could at least be burnt or buried
Apologies for the heat We got sick of playing nice with the sun And now he's pumping juice like a horny teenager Ruining sheets and computer chairs with sweat and more
End of summer before electricity Those were the days you really needed your fingers for And they break them in two if they couldn't cut out your tongue But the they never changed because that's one of the atomic numbers
If you admire the cheers you understand the silence And it goes both ways until both ways is lead or steel Opinions differ in the history books only for a century or two Then all but one conks out from running the winless marathon
He doesn't bother counting twice And she doesn't mind the misspelled words Together you walk in a curb-blind stupor Forgiving like it was going out of style
Not looking down from your half-assed balcony All the good dreams are under lock and key and below the stairs anyway Make it easy for the straight and honest streets below Tell them you lost it all in far away fields and granaries
No stranger to the epic flowing night sweats When and where temperature triumphs terror Lost in the hazy dream past and real unrepentant morning Making peace with your indifferent and grounded ceiling
How big is this goddamn ambulance I can't even see the walls unless they're painted sky blue At least it comes with pavement, electricity and sushi bars And all the pills and drips you can convince them to give you
the signing bonus doesn't work in the dark the pens are conspiring to dry up for you tomorrow and the elevator are spilling blood and semen secrets at the moment of your most caffeinated and rumpled shirt needing
close your eyes on your well deserved sailboat think of all the rusting hulks scores of leagues below looking up with empty jealous longing at a senseless surface only the fish and debris getting in the way
you were still stuck in the drawer at the office broken in three and stuffed awkwardly into three file folders waiting for the right person to accidentally look in the wrong place for staples trying to get your say speaking between the lines
up all the night for the siren's call but instead getting busy signals and resurrected boys clubs all narrowing the seven deadly forms of restitution a fine reminder that we all shit when the sun's up
feeling out the crushed dead velvet chains a really pointless indulgence as you get a good hold on your sentence it's not my fault you took advantage of all those people with your pity I would have used a gun and a pair of hand grenades
all those words frozen upon the rafters just out of reach unless you break the gravity stage manager fingers and the bribes of time and words and rare lowland scotch add only an inch While every other night is opening night
I'm making these changes while you don't realize you're looking at me Depending on all the atoms in the corners of the mouth to behave Without all the cue cards that were left on the passenger seat that told the music it was the painting all along
It's too early to be too late and there's no point in being on time I was always waiting for the next bus on your almost street corner You never had the means to put the relished signs up Always relied on people whispering your name in their final breaths
I've got it good transit authority That all the trains run on time when you own the only clocks Hands upon hands like late and forbidden love Everyone is left alone in the night on the last station's platform
Eating the hearts and poisoning the minds Doesn't matter if most people don't use them anyway Just don't touch the digestive system because that's what they'll notice The unquiet love affair between the microwave and toilet
Rotten Boroughs Rotten boroughs Ghost towns Ancient runes Cattle calls Someone had to lead them all and his name was smuggled into the hat We were there climbing down the fence and got in the way of that Quick sedition Effortless treason Preferably classified Bureaucratic backstabbing It's not my fault he couldn't forge the names just the way they needed All it took was one downcast look at the shoes and the doubts were seeded Former lovers Broken hookups Filthy sheets Redacted romances He came through the seats of his pants all backwards and lost in love But things got sticky when the sun didn't rise and hard rain fell from above D-level shit Hardcore burns Up with refusal Subliminal tanking She thought they hit the ground again but then she never really knew the sky And when it's the clouds that cut you there's just no time to wonder why Dangerous repository Bring out the laws Hands twice crossed Mercy goes underground Late night cigarette fails Red velvet wounds I filled the pantry with excuses from morning sun to midnight star And just me and the maid know how close these moments really are
It's Just One of Those Nights And the philosophers and pediatricians agree It's just one of the those nights Where the weather isn't good enough You can't will the importance of the hours on such a tame and pleasant barometer This is how you lose your already slippery footing This is why the scars regrow over the weekend The neighbour was always the family friendly guilty pleasure Something you can feed the kids to on those cold early spring afternoons everyone forgets about until they happen Because time is getting tired of all these passive expectations with no rewards from old friend space And I would be there in my best clothes my hands frozen in true applause It's just one of those nights With all the letters to the editor shredded before the pale fire And the excuses ringing particularly hollow so the vibrations make the buildings and particle question just what the point of it all And the time and space it takes for them to decide to hell with it is the universe Which is much less deep and profound when you're throwing up in a shallow puddle in the hip bone side of town Creating your own galaxies from the pit of your unhappy stomach Clinging to memories you swore were just happening moments ago Why would they warp and yellow so quickly what kind of fool do the rules of general relativity take me for It's just one of those nights I furnished the basements You held down the omens I bent the numbers You called the letters I let the new terrible rain in You forgot to meet the new problems It’s just one of those nights
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What if the assholes you knew in high school grew up to be cops, CEOs, and politicians? | |||