Warbling I’m Sorry in E Flat

Posted in Uncategorized on February 23, 2015 by unsensible

My mother is professionally wounded
But I’m just a dilettante
I lack the jaw clenching avarice
To wrench her clock springs pop and let her whir out of balance
Spiraling like gravity turning in on itself draining to cold infinity

The only thing I’m sure of is doubt
My doctorate in “Preemptive Apologies” hangs in the basement office
Where I float in a haze of raised eyebrows, disincorporated dreans, and cigarettes

You were my first leson in heartbreak
I’ve spent 40 years drifting on that song
But I’ll call out again, I know,  hoping you’ll pull me back to solid ground

A yellowed juke box warbles melancholy
For the woman who washed me in the sink
My little hands grasping,  suspended between the cold hanging spigot and the carniverous drain

The light you see

Posted in Uncategorized on February 16, 2015 by unsensible

Be careful of the things you hate
Staring like a cat at a dark pool
Taught like a predator twisted bodily in sweated sheets at 3:20 A.M.
The face you dream of
Etched in abomination
Becomes your face
The words you cry in protest become their words
Your voice their voice

Blessed are the meek
For they shall sleep without dreaming
Blessed are those without justice
For they shall wake without fists in their chests and throats
Blessed are the forgetful
Forgiveness is a myth or a mystery
But the deep unknowable depth of human limitations and divine carelessness will set you free

fail

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 16, 2015 by unsensible

I set out to write a little poem
But ended with the truth instead

No death and no orgasms
No striking revelations, reversals, or denouements
No shit, fucking, damn, whop, nigger, fag, whore, damnation, sex, or god is dead
To stir your panties with salacious indignation

Leave it to an art school graduate
To labor over something with no market value
And not have the sense to leave it at the bottom of a drawer
Or at the bottom of the sea, where it belongs

Creature comforts

Posted in artsy, creative, creative writer, creative writing, creativity, morning, original, original poem, original poems, original poetry, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poetry of the day, poets, winter, writer, writing on February 9, 2015 by unsensible

At 8:07 AM on a weekday, nothing is funny.

“Good morning,” sticks in the throat like cold paste oatmeal.
Baleful necessity when faced with February’s frontal assault.
I shudder at your questions about my weekend.
Grit my teeth teetering through a breezy response.

But for the sake of our collective dignity:
Please do not try to be funny.

I’ll share your fluorescent fire.
Be appropriately grateful for the drop ceiling shelter.
For all humanity, let’s not pretend being here is our “first choice”.
Not even on a better day
When the sun rises before me
To start the coffee maker and heat the oven for cinnamon rolls

I choke on secondary embarrassment.

A few guidelines

Posted in art, artsy, creative, creative writer, creative writing, creativity, dream, original, original poem, original poems, original poetry, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poetry of the day, poets, think, writer, writing with tags on February 8, 2015 by unsensible

Don’t trust people
Who don’t like cats
Don’t read books
Who do what their told
Who believe what they think

Without question

Life is a mystery
Mystery is nothing without questions

Zombies again

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 26, 2015 by unsensible

Would you really want the truth, if truth is a thing
And this “thing” truth said with certainty (as we’re sure it will)
That you are an unmitigated asshole?
A liar? A panderer? A ruthless survivor?

Truth is a universal remote
When we don’t like it, we change the channel
“Oh, zombies again”
And click.

With love and regards to those who devour

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 26, 2015 by unsensible

In every gnash teeth, bullet vest narcissist
Anti-social, sociopath, tinpot, despot to the strong and infamous
Is the sneaking admiration of the legions sheep
With true love for their vulpine tormentors

In your bedroom and the boardroom
From the gleam of your blood on their chin
Spills the dreamy rictus grin of success
To stir the sanguine blood of the anemic do-gooders, one liners, and protest signers

In a world of pants down politicians and zero sum heroes
Nothing wins the bleeding heart like the iron-rich smell of success

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,824 other followers