New York, NY    1991 -    
Bernadette
Bernadette
7 hours ago

On a gray Thursday
with gray weather
I mulled gloomily over the idea
that reinventing oneself
is a lost art

disappearing
and starting over
without a trace

you just can't do that now

it's a shame,
the byproducts of modern technology

yet my identity is free to elude me
like a dog gone off its leash
I am dirtied in grass stains and diced petunia petals
from miscalculated dives
Physically I am cemented here,
on this metaphorical bench
in data records
as my brain laps gleefully around the park

indignantly,
in my office chair with wheels
I planned my escape


How nice it would be

to be a beach bum


Society could dismiss me
for insubordination,
I'll burn my arsenal of defense
mechanisms to the ground
three years turned to ash
and I may not have a single
faculty left afterwards
but I'll have all of my memories
and memories
are good for bar stories
That is what I'll do--

polish glasses along an ocean view
asking fellow lost souls
what they'd like to drink
and if they'd care to hear a story
while they're at it
and they'd nod behind amber beverage
with waves crashing
in the background
and I'd tell a tale
of misappropriated time
and a female protagonist
who never got it right

  2 days ago  Bernadette
Anthropoetry
Anthropoetry
2 days ago

We were so close
That I could feel a heartbeat
Shivering through your veins

The breath rumbling into
Fleshy concaves of your chest
Before it exhaled in small bursts
Through flared nostrils and
Over the cupid bow of your upper lip

Darting eyes sweeping the dust
From the loose skin we lost when the
Friction of our bodies came near enough
To almost touching

You drew me in, a pull of
Invisible strings that connected my
Hips to yours and my mouth
Nearer to the tongue licked pink
Lower mound of bitten flesh

Erect, stiff and rigid you
Puncture a hole in my inner thigh
As I clutch the rough fabric
Clinging to your side and

You give in to me
As I give in to you
The kiss

I don’t mind being a moment of weakness
As long as you don’t mind

Being mine

Bernadette
Bernadette
3 days ago

with her chime
crystalline
and bright, so stark
a contrast it startled me
like geometric print intruding
on a watercolor dream
in my window, a lone wolf sparrow
called her lover at 3am
then this morning
from separate winged real estate
a baby blue bird
rolled to its death
egg cracked embryonic
pulp
on the pavement
another shame among shames
that I don't have time to cry about

so here I am
sleep deprived on Monday
dry mouth chewing stale cereal
while the reporter reaches his quota
for name drops per episode
the producer gives a thumbs up

I don't judge him
we're all accumulating bad karma
from somewhere
caffeinated, over-carbed,
clean shirt, coat on
countdown to lunchbreak
so I can leave the building
and watch the pretty city women
dressed to perfection
and all the handsome,
broad-shouldered men responsible
for the spikes in my water bill
walkin'
and talkin'
as if they saved the world
today,
I bet you did babe
I bet you did

  4 days ago  Bernadette
Shawna Michele
Shawna Michele
5 days ago

non-existent relations meets
thought-gasms aching for relief
penned in black calligraphy
by sweat drenched maddening
trembling hands trying to spell your name

the letters are sweet
they stain the tongue
and distract from all responsibility

I've done it again
spent an entire day in bed bucking
beneath my own hands and wishing
they were yours

I'm a junkie for your distant skin
saturated in desperate agony

I can almost taste you

https://youtu.be/Bawbk71Qh_g
Bernadette
Bernadette
5 days ago

A string of Edison bulbs
submerges
the studio
in liquid
gold

The ceiling fan's humming

street chatter's

fuzzy
from outside his window

an artist's reciting
gloomy licks
on synco
-pated
treble,
freight train
echoes,
corroded synth
and lilted
ripples
divide the room
into a
pulse

He films me undressing

nods twice,

lights a joint then
lounges on the bed

I walk to him
and slink my arms
like Italian
mink
around his shoulders
smoke curls from the corner
of his mouth

I  kiss him
heavy
and steady
into the evening,  he moves me

like bluesy guitar
riffs,
sapphire
and diamond
drips into
a pool of
velvet

on nights like this

when the kindling's still
smoldering,
we lie beneath
a single bed sheet

I romanticize

while he
strokes my skin
gently

and warm breeze

alludes to June at our ankles

In a single, well-curated line
one by one
my fellow millennials
punched me in the face

I am
speed bag brained
with elbows stained in asphalt grit
My spit launched
parabolic over
my bloodied lip
I steadied my dizzy
to read
the billboard script:

ARE YOU HAVING THE TIME OF YOUR LIFE?

Not exactly. I could use a healing and I feel so biological lately.
Just a gummy body devoid of fantasy, living metronomically paced
by an apathetic heartbeat. The parasites consume me from behind my
computer screen. None of the movements mean anything anymore
and the population's too busy posing to notice the culture outgrowing its shallow dish. The casualties come marching in


Mike - Item No. 41312
His demons aligned
an arrow
perpendicular to
the curled bow of his shoulders
They shot it
straight on through his chambers,
pinning him
to a dingy bathroom
stall
The last I saw him
drooped
over
a spoon
in Bushwick

  Apr 24  Bernadette
Shashank Virkud
Shashank Virkud
Mar 3, 2012

She's more of a poet
'cause she went to school for it,
and she tastes sweet in the morning,

and in the evening,

sunlight filters through her
and lights up that slice of lemon
that I love so much.
I think I'll have a writer -

on the rocks.

Every time I come home,
my room smells like sex in the summer,
and it sounds like the vinyl is still under the needle.
Best album of two thousand and nine.

Best album of all time.

Sand between our toes,
we wrote prose
on a filthy mattress but
roses never grew here.

And they never will.

There was something about us though,
something that had a feverish pulse
behind it.  I'd say it was something to
do with the way we have of never putting
a cheap laugh below us. I think it has
something to do with resilience but I'm not sure.
Humming trite voicings of things we'd heard
in the backseat of our fathers' cars, radios on,
you use to tell me to flash the turn signal,
in the black of night, just so you could make sure
we were alive. Dry, but at least alive.
A little beacon to justify us,
and just defy them.


Whiskey,
come over
here and
kiss me.

C'mon
Corinthian,
keep me
company!

Set this manuscript
to music and dance for me!

 
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