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Poetry 6

Like mentioned on the other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why these five 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

 

WAITING [FOR] AS I LAY DYING

[busy plucking the eyes out of swine]

[a cross carried like a gooseberry pillow]

[she corrected us all and wondered why not again]

[where the gusts of wind acknowledges their diminishing returns]

[less of a doctor and more of a man with careful blood on his hands]

[because any number scraping the low teens leaves an acidic taste in the slaves' mouths]

[just because you haven't died yet doesn't mean you have a right to live]

[the light doesn't do enough to enough to punch out my unfairly proportioned edges]

[and after all the hammer blows and moonlit walks the dog still shit inside when it thundered]

[the ruffled cry of fevered egos smacking wetly on the taut skin]

[like a problematic jettison of the holy reasons for dirt dry rituals and accounts]

[lines kneel down before the block not bothering to cut or burn but simply beg for mercy to save split haired time]

[an ocean of collusion washes the true mistakes clean since the dots and dashes were made in slapdash denial]

[you cook the guilt in denial marinade and serve it with half-baked sympathy]

 

 

Irish Lunch

it catches you on the green grey cliffs

you can't mention the voices in the background

they gum up the works like toffee

hangs like somehow secret rust

cripples the straight thoughts like speed bumped bullets

run for cover under the duplicitous and more clovers

 

the near blind man that pitches the dangerous ideas

that almost makes sense

who thought that love was better than a free lunch

as the noises rattle around the legs of his impatient compatriots

two too many of them he silently opines

but a good history is always better fiction

 

I forgot the copyrights

and float down the liffey

I make mistakes like they were quick pardons

The narration switches like new railroad tracks

silent shiny smooth and doubtlessly effective for all those involved

even though they don't remember it ever happened seconds later

 

boiling on the sidelines

in blind spots the size of houses

an economic famine is ringing in the clanging of old mugs

choice that burns down the family farms

a yawn inducing double tracking odyssey

still stuck with the smallest of all potatoes

 

 

I Called You to Stop Myself

I called you to stop myself

Made a point of writing future transgressions down

Listened to the terrible years old railway sound

It burns up the picture of health

 

I signed off on the sound of sirens

Made off with the hostile cash that grew in the attic

Tried to drown out morality by loading up on static

And ridiculing the last few tyrants

 

I destroyed excessive chances

Made an example of those who coloured beyond the lines

Considered the wonderful world of hazy and substantial fines

Showing up in all the legal dances

 

Now we want our ancient needs

Like diamonds caught in foolish teeth

The lives of others our sole relief

It's the only thing that nothing breeds

 

The measure has broke against the ruler

Buying copies of the things you stole

A discount way to save your soul

Cracking heads that are always cooler

 

 

Someone's Old Ways

 

snub-nosed notes

left in old back pockets

aging like fine wine

full of bullet point rockets

 

it's a way of life on the primordial grid

eating the range to live in the narrow

the statuesque opposites up in flames

the ashes rolled out in a designer barrow

 

the sound of fresh swan

carved up on a crowded stage

the bones are tossed to the audience

none of whom will act their age

 

haggling out the core issue

calling off bathroom breaks

tipping big on the spinal tissue

cross referencing their mistakes

 

all the best news is stuck on repeat

the time at the tone is always too late

the worst people are the best card cheats

your favourite holy man has sold off his fate

 

burning off steam under the flags

getting off rounds before the others' cock

placing the ashes in old shopping bags

this isn't politics we sold that on the block

 

 

 

In a beautiful place out in the city

 

In a beautiful place out in the city

there's a whisper you're letting slip into the past

offering nothing more than disrespectful lip service

it's not even about listening to your heart

but just remembering that it exists and is still pumping

 

a terrible fumbling of time

a slow crucifixion of the known unknowns

a part time suffering again

licking your neighbour's wounds

it's that problem with buckling

always at the middle outset

yes these places are just around the next corner over

 

old drug coat in japanese stations

carefully regulated house thievery

the mistake is in the message pudding

a dangling knife in sea desert relations

it's blade dulled on the his and her tree

the asian antique rules have lost their footing

 

taking solstice in your mangled spaceship

a massive sphere making the rounds

and with that mystery collapses with a roll of the eyes

an analogy heard a thousand times before

blunting its impact despite essential truths

all we are is stuck in a loop

and like everyone else I'm wondering about a pardon

not from above or below but from beside

 

delicate mistakes

hung nobly from the gallows

conscious efforts

knocked out in half a breath

carefully timed

to coincide with the flames

 

 

Itís All Those Thirsty Decisions Doctor

 

Itís all those thirsty decisions doctor

I canít help but wring my tongue

Everyone along the faulty wiring

Is casting cold aspersions upon your character

 

Your destinationís gone out of tune

Lost among the frayed surface strings

I canít be bothered to fix the break of day

Since when was letting nature take its course a crime

 

The fieldís open and properly marked

The sidelines have been bent for you

The perfect patient bides their chance time

Sucking down flabby IV bags like hallelujah candy

 

I refuse to call out the name of the disease

Thatís where it draws its power claim the elders

From the spoken symbols of A to Z

To the recombining of chemicals as it hangs in the stale air

 

Replacing veins and arteries with PVC piping

Keeps the overhead simmering and slow

Ensure the cracks donít form like before

Affordable corrections begat affordable bills

 

Another matter of he said she said telephone

The game where the best are supposed to lose often

Allís fair in street health and curb medicine

Get me on my back to drain the music from my ears

 

 

only the living blame the dead.