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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
It’s All Those Thirsty Decisions Doctor
It’s all those thirsty decisions doctor I can’t help but wring my tongue Everyone along the faulty wiring Is casting cold aspersions upon your character
Your destination’s gone out of tune Lost among the frayed surface strings I can’t be bothered to fix the break of day Since when was letting nature take its course a crime
The field’s 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 That’s 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 don’t 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 All’s fair in street health and curb medicine Get me on my back to drain the music from my ears
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only the living blame the dead. | |||