Poetic angel ain’t gonna save ya, stop your prayin’, it won’t do no good. Poetic angel too busy speedin and drinkin’ behind Holy Typewriter Poetic Angel don’t give a good God Damn, too consumed with fillin out resume switchin’ sides and joinin’ up with Devil’s Earthly Delight Army O’Fun You might consider doin’ the same
Smoke Ring Halo
Another pack of smokes purchased, previous not quite vacant, who knows how much time, will be spent, in deaths, waiting room, might as well be comfortable.
Bar-coding new books Envisioning what to do with this lil’ haiku
We'll Bury It Out On Desolation Rd.
Undress under moons final performance I will sketch your body, in volcanic ash hues, on the skin from an unemployed drum Time capsule waits for evidence of sympathetic notions So the children of the children of the children of the children of the new wave God, can understand what is meant by that old hound- dog phrase, regarding learning from a mistake.
A Lesson No School Can Teach
Tranquility is an art-form in a world reeking of noise and chaos One must learn to paint their surroundings in peaceful silence A task, that takes patience time and understanding Do not, over-estimate your ability to harness beauty.
Eyes are for peepin’! Breasts are for tweakin’! Let’s all die young and vulgar!
And I Felt Like A Rich Lucky King
It was on the tip of your tongue, long pauses bring doubt though, but you knew the answer was hidden somewhere beneath the words that crept up annoyingly. With um’s and ah’s and er’s, you tried to fill the gap as you raced through your mental dictionary, hoping to land on the right page in the next millisecond, but with each new non-word sound you voiced you only found those...
Glass Full of Blues
Blank screen, blank page projector and typewriter on strike in solidarity Record player knows its importance, singing Odetta blues tunes, at top of its lungs Pen bled dry an hour ago, whisky’s in mourning Odetta Odetta Odetta sing me dem blues, while I, readjust my mind, to reflect an outcome, that may not be plausible, but joyous, in its drunken delirious stupefaction memory might...
I Dream I Had That May or May Not Be The Future
Thunder barely passed us, I, hunched over steering wheel, you, looking for shooting stars through windshield, windows down, cigarettes glowing in unison with dashboard dials, smoke scent mixed perfectly with coffee and fresh air, my right foot steady as a buddha statue, yours keeping time with a.m country radio signal, kept low as not to wake the four legged sleepy baby curled in back, and I...
]]> americanmasters replied to your post: Would it be cheesey… i think the last verse of that song is some of the most amazing anything ever so NO omg NO That’s the problem with that song. There are so many lines that I absolutely love that to figure out a stanza or a verse is almost impossible and at the same time the song has so many lyrics that it could cover my back. Why...
Would it be cheesey...
to get the lyrics or some of the lyrics of Dylans ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’ tattooed? I don’t really care, I’m bored and listening to it.
And I Danced On the Wrong Side of The Train Tracks
In pleasantries I stumbled upon the memories of watching young gypsies playing harmonicas in revelry in a crowd of Christianities young dubious kidies who knew nothing of the blasphemies being performed for anarchy’s world changing worries trying to ‘86’ the communities unwanted, unneeded anxieties brought on by judges jurries manipulated by newspapers false inquiries fighting...
The future has no such reality as the pictured past and the perceived present...– Vladimir Nabokov - Transparent Things
I Etched Your Name On a Tavern Wall
Barkeep! Barkeep! Mix me a perfect lover, so I can taste her sweetness, so I can feel her warmth course through my veins, a slow intoxication with every sip, she’ll enable me to howl at moon with furry of a dying man, in drunken dreams, we will hold each other, until a new days begins.
Shades down solitude Embark on inner journey This is how I cope
My Ears Are Open
Solace exists not in flesh haunted by desire unspoken so speak up if you wish to find peace between the sheets
Many midnights gone Your scent faded into myth Love now fictional
Breathe deeply with time Lover waits with book with pup work can be noble?
war torn open streets blooming tree shade enemy neighbors once friendly
Unlike a rich man, a poor man will never have to suffer through paranoid notions, that his lover is only with him for money.
This Is What I Write When I Yearn For A Cigarette
painted inferno hair selling sentimentality to aging school children, whom know the story of Peter Pan by heart, sweet Eden lips speaking no evil of apple nor trusting no voice of testing vice, paradise lies in hands smoothly nimble, humble songs sang under failed Utopian attempts, peaceful existence can not be built by concrete alone, the melody echoes through out new misgivings rising from...
Sent in a Short Story to the NPR Three Minute...
keeping my fingers corssed and expectations low. oh yeah. thank the mighty winds it is Saturday.
Ladies and Gentlemen
It is 4:30. time to get drunk/stoned/fucked up and praise the world for vices HAPPY FRIDAY!
every song on Blonde on Blonde makes me wish I had...
Sunny Day Women
I fell in love with your maid who told me not to be afraid of those street corner solicitors working for the scarecrow prisoner who stands alone in a corn field tired with shame She told me that she wouldn’t get paid until all the rooms have been laid and that my false identity wasn’t a factor if i could get a waver from a practitioner who could keep watch as he healed those sick...
delicate-genius replied to your post: I think it is fair to say that my girlfriend and I… when hell is full, the dead shall walk the earth…and eat doritos that’s two bags of dorito’s. more hacking too come. but don’t fret, he is drinking orange juice to balance it out. excuse me as I vomit while thinking about that combo. Worst lunch ever. on a third seperate note: ...
I think it is fair to say that my girlfriend and I are the only ones in our age bracket(under 30) who are psyched that Joe Cocker is coming this summer. If you don’t love some Cock(er) then you are missing out. on a side note: my elderly co-worker just consuming a bad of Dorito’s while coughing, hacking and death rattlin’. This same man said he lived healthily a few weeks ago....
Why can’t reality be whittled out of cities skyline bright lights, and vagabond newspapers left to dance naked in the streets? My name is called from an empty bus. Dumpsters have all been occupied. I try to play ‘I Spy’, but no one sees anything anymore. Tonight I will jump from the flower pot, into a vast ocean that beckons no fisher of men. Keeping crossed fingers, that...
delicate-genius replied to your audio post: This is a song I did awhile back called ‘It’s… mannn. this is really good. it makes me want to lie down in the middle of a giant empty field. ha, when I first read your comment I thought you said die instead of lie. glad I reread that one. thanks. hopefully I will get some more going.
]]> verymodernman replied to your audio post: This is a song I did awhile back called ‘It’s… wonderful. awesome. loved this song. thanks a lot man. been meaning to post this for months now.
americanmasters replied to your post: KILL THIS POEM! haha spiled ink haha whoops. didn’t even notice that. I’m just happy mine isn’t the only poem under that tag. We all fuck up at some point!
KILL THIS POEM!
Kill this poem! literary value among these lines is absent meaningless hopeless drivel a city of cliche bullshit don’t bother going on Please head this warning Kill this poem! crumple it up flush down the toilet delete it from the hard drive strap to it a bomb fire scissors bare hand brute strength feed to a fucking dog Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Kill this poem! it’s a...
Things to Say On a One Night Stand
Don’t confuse my penis for my heart & I won’t confuse your lips with the meaning of life
Quiet As a Church Mouse
A voice was raised, child reprimanded, congregational hush, organ lost for chords, hymn caught in collective choir throat, mid pew offering stopped, black robe wide-eyed speak of God pale faced, and all the child wanted was to know the truth
The Postman is a Fraud
Beggars can’t be choosers, Takers lust after the same intangible object, tonight I will make my peace with the cash machine, tonight I will resign myself to dark abyss of empty stomach, my lust hasn’t yet to burn out, the right words just haven’t shown themselves in mailbox, life is time and place, nothing more.
Yum Yum Eat It Up
My life would be perfect, if only I could obtain, my daily amount of nutrition by feeding off of the stupidity of others
Absurdly Humping the Day
I am not forlorn enough to write odes to sock-puppets on those walls of bathrooms located conveniently underground below the belly of the beast best known as the corporate court jester scapegoattee a.k.a Ralph Wiggum Cheney
I Wanna Be Surrounded By The Highway
pack your suitcase, sturdy and frayed, you won’t need that much, leave your burdens in the closet, nothing is as free as you an me and a highway pointing in every direction our desires can be met, our dreams can come true, baby, there ain’t nothing as free as me and you to the country, to the ocean will escape the future’s foreclosure make some cash where we can I got a guitar,...
Haiku For The Watchers of Time Clocks
A boredom concrete death,please come in strapless dress Dust, Dust, Everywhere! No more use caring Trapped by financial burdens Chimes of Freedom, where? Watchers of the clock tick-tock, tick-tock, tick….nothing Your name no bird sings Run, now is the time! Weight lifts off slack shoulders Fuck you traffic jam!
Wash off your make-up True honesty lies with in Pure nude universe
Blue eyed sky spring day Sunshine pierces not buildings under feet, shadows
Bury me in coffin wrapped with pages torn out of dog- eared copies of the great depressing novels laquered with blood sweat and whiskey so I may remember the best part of living
The nail was in the coffin the hammer had yet to make that final swing just enough time for one more fuck
That old tale involving the Butterfly and tidal wave sums up the simplistic nature of everything
ordinarywonder replied to your post: Another Night In The Barnyard Hmm. I like this one in particular. Interesting language. thanks. I try to use absurd and sometimes meaningless poems to broaden my use of language or to get out of any mental rut. This one came about fairly fast with words like a slot machine. By meaningless I refer to not having a precise image or plot in my head, I am sure...
Another Night In The Barnyard
crucify me on umbilical cord magnatism my animal animosity bares deaf mute fangs, as the chicken scratches colussal hunger on the chalkboard headboard owned by beast, with a dinner for one back wallflower phone bleeds regret for attending this party