blake-bourland - Hello Poetry

It never really ends Just sort of twists and unfolds Never ever cured Just under control Someday he'll **** me Or the both of us I suppose If she's lucky She'll be spared the worst Hope Cause in reality No one is.

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Apr 29, 2017

Apr 29, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC

blake-bourland

What the future holds

It never really ends Just sort of twists and unfolds Never ever cured Just under control Someday he'll **** me Or the both of us I suppose If she's lucky She'll be spared the worst Hope Cause in reality No one is.

11

need street just like gin time vermouth fuck blue beer man glass drink liquid shattered away bar notice feel soul right set main shadow white vodka haiku perfect match shot big mornings past saw light join edge black candy make words elephants bastard olive eyes poetic sound way long passed die motion page drain dallas yesterday martini brine passage window brand highway blank icy hills night sitting cheap carpet holding filled gulped condensation women pint quick imagine dive gripped professors stem point false self peace hardwood epiphany highball unspecified downed crystal means sting cinema percent mixing forget bukowski sifted fingers

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Nov 21, 2013

Nov 21, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC

blake-bourland

Tag lines

need street just like gin time vermouth fuck blue beer man glass drink liquid shattered away bar notice feel soul right set main shadow white vodka haiku perfect match shot big mornings past saw light join edge black candy make words elephants bastard olive eyes poetic sound way long passed die motion page drain dallas yesterday martini brine passage window brand highway blank icy hills night sitting cheap carpet holding filled gulped condensation women pint quick imagine dive gripped professors stem point false self peace hardwood epiphany highball unspecified downed crystal means sting cinema percent mixing forget bukowski sifted fingers

100

like benny profane @ the sailors' grave boot heels etch Hieroglyphic cuneiform on saw dusted floors, while blobs of mercury nailed to the bar drip down nauseatingly poetic accomplishing nothing proving even less.

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Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC

blake-bourland

What's it feel like?

like benny profane @ the sailors' grave boot heels etch Hieroglyphic cuneiform on saw dusted floors, while blobs of mercury nailed to the bar drip down nauseatingly poetic accomplishing nothing proving even less.

12

Black smoke Binomial random Exhaled, white Variable Light Probability mass Condensed Labels Function humanity macro micro into seasonal index meditative chants Conceptualized meaning attempt at poetry / waste of time Death in a lecture hall behind a prison of silver screens.

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Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC

blake-bourland

What!?

Black smoke Binomial random Exhaled, white Variable Light Probability mass Condensed Labels Function humanity macro micro into seasonal index meditative chants Conceptualized meaning attempt at poetry / waste of time Death in a lecture hall behind a prison of silver screens.

11

Beautiful in a way seldom seen Knowing all too well this is an illusion Perfect shadow in name it is neither.

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Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC

blake-bourland

the perfect shadow

Beautiful in a way seldom seen Knowing all too well this is an illusion Perfect shadow in name it is neither.

5

Why then can't we just **** and drink beer? Surely those words must have been written by more men than just me Your face is in the lights reflection off the ice cubes in the bottom of every scotch on the rocks It's your skin I can feel When my hand touches the polished edge of the bar when I drain from the bottle I can see you breathing life into me So why then can't we just **** and drink beer Why is it ever more than just that? Because of the mornings ******* mornings.

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Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC

blake-bourland

...and drink beer.

Why then can't we just **** and drink beer? Surely those words must have been written by more men than just me Your face is in the lights reflection off the ice cubes in the bottom of every scotch on the rocks It's your skin I can feel When my hand touches the polished edge of the bar when I drain from the bottle I can see you breathing life into me So why then can't we just **** and drink beer Why is it ever more than just that? Because of the mornings ******* mornings.

23

And I drank a beer for the Poet, lyrically gripped on to the stem of peace and understanding I downed a shot for the Women clutching their highball of shattered self importance I gulped wine from a goblet for the professors, the teachers holding their stein filled w/ false prophecy and cheap hopes. And I shattered my glass on the floor Just to prove a point.

0

Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC

blake-bourland

An unspecified night, at some ****** dive bar

And I drank a beer for the Poet, lyrically gripped on to the stem of peace and understanding I downed a shot for the Women clutching their highball of shattered self importance I gulped wine from a goblet for the professors, the teachers holding their stein filled w/ false prophecy and cheap hopes. And I shattered my glass on the floor Just to prove a point.

17

The pint glass sitting on the edge of the nightstand full of gin and tonic watching the condensation roll down to the warped hardwood for the first time I imagine a quick sweep of the wrist, shattered glass in the carpet.

0

Oct 12, 2013

Oct 12, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC

blake-bourland

An epiphany

The pint glass sitting on the edge of the nightstand full of gin and tonic watching the condensation roll down to the warped hardwood for the first time I imagine a quick sweep of the wrist, shattered glass in the carpet.

13

I had a Bukowski in me but I had to finish mixing my drink The next best seller but I had to add the vermouth It was poetic genius you cant forget the olive but i’ll lose it if I dont move I need a pen, i need to get to my computer, i need to do something fast but it’s long gone now sifted through the frontal cortex like so much sand through my fingers and it was going to be the next big one, the one that would get me out of here make me the big shot published author but no... the worst part of it is I used too much vermouth

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Jan 6, 2013

Jan 6, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC

blake-bourland

Bukowski-esk Poem About Boozing

I had a Bukowski in me but I had to finish mixing my drink The next best seller but I had to add the vermouth It was poetic genius you cant forget the olive but i’ll lose it if I dont move I need a pen, i need to get to my computer, i need to do something fast but it’s long gone now sifted through the frontal cortex like so much sand through my fingers and it was going to be the next big one, the one that would get me out of here make me the big shot published author but no... the worst part of it is I used too much vermouth

17

Stay away from that victory gin that causes rebel rouses, but no elections Go join the 99 percent and never graduate your fafsa dreams don’t intimidate me **** your mace brand justice and your senior citizen abuse. join the merchant sailors like the greats. be some one who can change, ******* it what we need right now is someone who can wright this right of passage. we need another Kerouac we need another Ginsberg cause all i ever did in Dallas was die all i ever did in Dallas was die. set me free from this pretentious tyranny of name brand sweaters, and lemon bars, your art house cinema fulhouse applause can’t match the street grit grime of my soul. too much vermouth with much rancid brine has made me a bitter soul of conquest. the tomorrow is wasted youth on main street on a wave of ***** and appletini ******** sugar sweet synth pop and black liquorice hip hop spewing out of every show off trendy water hole. the sixth street, fry street, main street, bourbon street of our fathers will swill down the drain to make room for the next for the next for the next......... after all we ever we wanted to do was last. where do we go from here?

0

Aug 21, 2012

Aug 21, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC

blake-bourland

The next one

Stay away from that victory gin that causes rebel rouses, but no elections Go join the 99 percent and never graduate your fafsa dreams don’t intimidate me **** your mace brand justice and your senior citizen abuse. join the merchant sailors like the greats. be some one who can change, ******* it what we need right now is someone who can wright this right of passage. we need another Kerouac we need another Ginsberg cause all i ever did in Dallas was die all i ever did in Dallas was die. set me free from this pretentious tyranny of name brand sweaters, and lemon bars, your art house cinema fulhouse applause can’t match the street grit grime of my soul. too much vermouth with much rancid brine has made me a bitter soul of conquest. the tomorrow is wasted youth on main street on a wave of ***** and appletini ******** sugar sweet synth pop and black liquorice hip hop spewing out of every show off trendy water hole. the sixth street, fry street, main street, bourbon street of our fathers will swill down the drain to make room for the next for the next for the next......... after all we ever we wanted to do was last. where do we go from here?

21