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Poetry, March 2014 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
Take me down to where the stories are I douse my fears in gasoline and light them up with your fire
Take me down to where the stories are There's a sound coming from the edges of golden fields Moving carefully to the centre slipping between the stalks
Lets run to the farm and drink from the still Recycle the summer blue sky and pin it up to the corners Turn the rafter stories true with hay in our hair
I swallowed all the simple things and left complicated messages in empty bar toilets
I let the ones and zeroes eat the more pointless parts of my soul The stuff that's half off and near the back that I wasn't using anyway
To all the other broken armed people For those that hit the skids over the simplest things Pouring one out for those who couldn't cry at broken glass gunpoint
Holding out for the pitch black brick shutters The kind that mother used to hide her neuroses behind
no numbers please we're missing fingers
I poked out a small hole in the darkness for a bit of love to come through I downed it like a drunk and gave it a crazy name like Amber Crystal Diamond I held her hand on the infinite laps as the faceless ran beside us
A foundation of leaks and misrepresentations The follower in question is being read a series of medical emergency pamphlets A baseless accusation is booking time at the tanning salon The employee in question is fostering a sectarian inclination as the sun sets A fractured bottle of hot scotch and cold sores The glass in question reflecting all the answers as the crushed ice sweats
Some messes still look like messes no matter how far you pull back or out
In Between Dreams Outside the boundaries of skills Against the treacherous trickling rain That listens in beneath itself For whispers and thoughts Holding your own between your legs Making wishes on the backs of fattened up consequences I'll admit I forgot your name But at least I remembered how to cheat
In between dreams is the feeling of death
When flexing your muscle puts you in traction For phoning it in and getting the number wrong The gains look different under the red lights Full of more compromised bloodlines than initially advertised
The night's just a mistake A star that can't get its act together Thinks it's standing its ground Going around and around
everybody drowned so now it's lost and found
Hold Me In Your Ambulance Hold me in your ambulance A hospital on wheels Pump me full of finery and soothing promises
I got through the chainsaw meetings Put down the dogs of war Watched the grave sites sweat it out Hunkered down with a dry martini and an olive bucket
I got out of the goodbye greetings Found them rotten to the core Saw the radiation use all its clout Sauntered down the alley with all the warmth of 'fuck it'
Growing stubborn with time nipping at your heels Sound the trumpets and break the seals It's armageddon time on our bollywood set
I'm trying with vomit Time is fatal Chronic trumpet blasts Fusing the antiviral strains with a child's hockey skate
Find shattered compromise in your very own home No one's going to blame you for the details They've already nailed you up for the old god mistakes
When Irish Ears are Burning When Irish ears are burning The clout of a Belfast goodbye There's always been blood in the Liffey And Dublin never has to ask why
It's a head bashing event Full of that get fresh flow The luck is lost and the dogs dive fast Again in hollow hag snow
These Are the Fallow Days These are the fallow days With the morning sun cornstalk thin The air half decided Words so fresh they might slip back into the dying night
These are the fallow days When the lunch comes without crumbs The tear stained stomach Wondering if it's the only organ making long shadow sacrifices
These are the fallow days Where the afternoon never ends The broken alarm waiting Wafer-thin excuse keeps the grey engine horizon on its ever stone haunches
Left him wherever you found him Like sawed in half on hot summer pavement Like your dreams were tightly packed and vacuum sealed Like it's finally about the crumpled sweaty money Like you fixed the broken fingers ten minutes to late Like the names are just letters spat out onto tissue paper Like the village could be collapsed and folded up for the night Like the snow was just a feint by the secret sun Like head crushed in an alley under mysterious circumstances Like the downtown train running over the uptown girl Like cracking open an ice cold beer on a hot sweaty cheek Like the loss of perspective down the barrel of a gun Like a street level skull collection of the favourite perpetrators Like triumph of the will done backwards and upside down
Ha Ha For Your Loss You can't do this there are rules There are good night's sleeps There's people trying to get on with their lives There's looking like a fool at the worst possible time Stuck in a semi-classic rut
I waited out the rain but I won't wait out the snow At least now they'll be footprints If you can't keep your lower half from following me
We hope everybody's waiting out the storm In bubble filled bath tubs or underneath piles of blankets on old worn in sofas With old paint peeling mugs of hot chocolate and cereal bowls overflowing with carrot sticks The windows can rattle carefully and the wind gusts can become a symphony You are permitted to make trite but true statements to whoever's around that you're glad you're not outside on a night like this Children may press their noses against the glass and fog it up with their excited breath wondering whether school will be cancelled tomorrow
Ha ha for your loss The expected jester crows Lost his cap but not his head The faithful daughter broken down and reinvented It's not like these games make the living breathing finals The jibes and gambols are trimmed away like fat Cutting you up with shiny black blades
She gleefully screams You'll never believe what people forget
what's so wrong with the cities crashing into the sea? why should you bother being faithful to me? Their head's above water Like lambs to the slaughter
Shopping For the Forgotten Hold your donations high Gently place your head on a pillow of generosity Don't let the non-imaginary numbers get you down Never say fuck it to each drop in the bucket Every little bit counts when you're doing the counting
Remember who's eating the signs Take their fingerprints for the first offence and their fingers for the second
What's not to like about the grey soot skies Forget your lungs and let your eyes breathe it in Black and white and in between Think of the contrasts and not the dead fish trees fields families
In conversation with the innards of a bengal tire A neoclassical take on what greases the wheel of morality Eating out the hustle as it thrusts its legs into the air You don't worry about the frame when you're in the picture Barely acknowledging the time saving devices as it slips through your fingers
floating on a cloud full of lackadaisical distinctions thumbing through secondhand thesauruses and worrying about the pronunciations three days from now on the shores on a tiny Puerto Rican lagoon where the soft wind gives off a hint of careless freedom and dreams end with couple cumming at the exact same time like getting stuck inside late night infomercials and being strapped to the gurneys to get waterboarded with the kool-aid where even the devil will be shown mercy if he shows up hat in hand braying like a donkey who's finally come to its senses and stops comparing mothers' eyes to wireless signals
satisfied with the exit signs the paint streaking just right you can feel emergency leap off the aluminum and nestle into your soft and wet left armpit like a tick cold black rain on fresh tin foliage now you're talking and talking and talking and I can't hear your unstressed syllables over the rattling drops
a mixture of selfish and selfless wants you can't let this one go they know exactly what they do down the highest of the most high leaving numbers and names at information kiosks for anyone curious and vulnerable hanging underneath suspension bridges to cup a windy feel
Someone Was Inquiring About The Monsters Someone was inquiring about the monsters How they made their decision to rip off either the arms or legs first The cost benefit analysis of rivulets of warm blood flowing from inelegant stumps
How's that for a sense of loss, sir? Are you satisfied with this pile of scraps and ashes? We can mail photographs to your enemies of your bank account statements How about mahogany splints for your broken bones? We can remember it for you retail Difference in price can be chalked up to shrugs in the wind The third of eleven messiahs tripped over their own coattails Going head over feet down the nine storey
Anarchy Is wooing me With answers quick In a world sick I knew the six professionals Who took turns in three confessionals To list off the hair brained sins With dickish shit filled grins I broke this movement's back I paid off this and that Photos of politicians compromised Money begetting secrets and lies
Fast and barbed and underwater the kind of thing you pray dies gasping at your doorstep moments before curling its fingers to proudly knock I knew the background name Could have helped you with the grey seed analysis The sort of words that cut deep with cold indifferent precision
A bonus reason to stop drinking this year Maimed in the morning sun and not knowing the difference Pushing the bitter herbs around your plate Even though your shoulder chips aren't fooling anybody As life becomes a painful game of darts Making obscene gestures in front of chaotic schoolyards Waking up and find that the only thing different is the pronunciation of doggrel
Try to fix x and y problems with the lottery numbers Commencement is always the last place you look Under that dog fucked sofa and always yanked out of context Let the record skip and maybe even hiss a bit
A Thousand Quality Zeroes A thousand quality zeroes I made all the quality disruptions the kind you take back home to mother stuck in the last of fourteen dens with the heads hung over the endless fireplaces
ain't no one here but us crippling doubts and untrustworthy salutations
all this crunchy video game snorg when saints destroy us with cautionary chords resenting the tones and echoes that make penance twice the chore like a rotten fruit that goes hard instead of soft fucking patience in the ass Waiting for wind on one of the endless unremarkable beaches Cold sand and overcast and not a drop to drink
right at the back of that throat that tinny buzzing sound Like a fly in a hot wet cavern going after lost angry lambs stamping hooves on cold rock in midnight blackness baring teeth at passing car headlights pissing blue on the quiet dying grass promising vengeance against the cruel wind
dead frozen banquets on embarrassingly shaky tables gathering fresh dust in decrepit wound houses stuffed with half-life subsiding anger
get some rest before you dream just lie back and think of nothing as the wise man inspects projects ejects
shorthanded time wranglers going down slow to spread he gates of heaven I've dreamed of these soft forest paths for years counted down the days with the fingers I'm using now to get to the spot before moving on to the bottom I'm not fooling anyone least of all you but your moans don't mind
It's like a slot machine come to even more life Making another cold shot at the old and crippling wires The last few words are getting tired at this point Making those kind of snap decisions Trust is as strong as you can sell it Hourglass disfigures
Under Lines 1 it's not like i enforce the broken rules or make a point with the edge of a sword i just want to hear some freeform accountability and give specific co-ordinates for where the barely prohibited magic happens
when each bite of the sandwich tastes more and more like defeat when keeping quiet for the sake of the room takes a piece of your soul too far gone to colour in the lines making a point with your dirty fingernails
an icy acceptance of the justly awards given out in random years doffing caps from forced corners to the other nominees
a million junkies shooting up a millions vials for a millions years and it's still nowhere close to the touch of your skin
a well reasoned crucifixion carefully measured and argued so that the lawyers don't get their undergarments in a bunch stainless steel nails and two by sixes cut from California redwoods
three years of high quality disservice the old sun that you swore you would never let warn your skin again is back on your doorstep hat in hand farting gases and setting the doormat aflame Let's hear it for these suckerpunch apologies That come when you shovel the snow out of your head and let it fall it where it may including onto antique candelabras, reptile filled baby strollers, thrice-smoking guns, a thousand ways to lose, the forgotten fortune cookie wrappers
an unholy dropkick to the future it is a kind of sarcasm my love for your furniture can't hide I can't look you in your tinted sunglasses as I say these things My mind is running in Ethiopian circles reassuring insecure dump trucks that their loads are certainly impressive and so much more relaxed than the white rape van relay teams making stops where the buses don't run due to fresh daisy budget cuts
by talking you've already lost permission the shared files suddenly gathered up and burned for their own safety watching the highlights from last night's riots on treadmill letting the burnt tire smoke drift out of your devices and into your lungs the gaps close in because the gaps are tired and just want sit down for a second and take it all with a glass of rum and ice in hand
Under Lines 2 nobody got rich jacking off in a corner but at least it didn't cost them anything
I spent all her money on time And traded that in for blood red diamonds Letting the coins run down my arms Staining the pavement like the drool of a honey drunk I should be screaming She left me alone with the dog and cat and mouse children
So I sense a change in the constituency of Northwestern Mathetts A place along those lines that bother the horizon so For their sad tardiness and slow spinning to and fro
Pulling out of the midwest machine While the grease and blood drips out and through the steel grates The decommissioned gears and copper wires grow like alien weeds
maxed out on fumes baby I'm dead set against your wooden morning glories let me spell it out in suitcases full of receipts the proof is in the poisoned noncommittal flustered pudding-like gelatine dessert
I can your post odours You sniff my undies It's a match made south of heaven and north of hell
a pardon for the passing fads they know not what they do have mercy on these lonesome cads they're only paid to screw
off until the hunter recalls the bulletheaded yes men then we straggle back to bunkers and corporate retreats alike the mystery comes with the big man's attire are we faithful servants or misbehaving children whose head's on the chopping block today and are you willing to call their husband wife or dog and break the bad news we did all we could save for saving their life we'll dedicate the next earnings report in their honour
it's not like shame lasts forever it's not like numbers take the night off it's not like fools are really clever it's not like
I'LL NEVER TALK BUT I WILL LET YOU FALL
I'll never talk but I will let you fall With fanfare left to gather dust in the basement You'll get plenty of exercise under pictures of clear blue skies and the leashes will be made of silk The doctor judge and banker are rubber stamping your de-applications They smile thinly at your misspelled name and former addresses Phone calls are made to short all your stocks and sink your last boat Pre-moistened tissues are thrown at your feet as they bind your hands I'm in the corner with my hand in my pants Making sure the important gelatine things are where they should be It's not personal it's business is traced on the ceiling above in plum ink A warning that the soul needs visitation papers to come down the rickety stairs
I'll cook schemes but I will burn you With oil left in the pan to soak in the grey flesh You'll get plenty of excuses under wide shots of the slaughterhouse floors and the gears will be stainless steel The grunt foreman and janitor are counting your unhatched chickens They grin shiteatingly at your empty stomach and sense of smell Text messages are sent to cancel your reservations and club your sandwiches Dirty napkins are left under your plate as they rip up your coat check ticket I'm in the bathroom with my hand in my pants Making sure the important fingers are washed and dried when they should be It's not steak it's fresh coal is the recommendation from your ex food taster A complaint that the appetite needs to have something worthwhile to come out for
I'll bury corpses but I will write your eulogy With words left out in the midwinter black cold You'll get plenty of attention under hot mortuary lights and the white gloves will be post hygiene rubber The mortician funeral director and gravedigger are rolling dice for your bronze teeth They sigh as your embalming fluids leaks out of your lesser known holes Hand signals are faxed to your family members asking to reschedule Coal mine clothes are stripped off and put through enhanced interrogation I'm in the viewing room with my hand in my pants Making sure the respects and tears are heavily taxed when they could be It's not breathing it's economics is going to be scribbled on your gravestone A shout out to all those that you betrayed will betray you in the extra special end
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It's always small groups of committed people that change the world, but not necessarily for the better | |||