some days it's fine
some days my bones ache and scream
to find your familiar touch
to find that safe place between your ribs
which so perfectly held my head
some days it's fine
and I don't see you in the grass
or all the colors in the clouds
they've drifted apart
just like us
some days it's fine
and i kick back with the whisky
we used to drink
with each drop i cherish the memory
of what you left me with
some days it's fine
other days i sit here
writing poems
to heal the wounds that have yet to fully
close
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
my bones feel dry
since your whisky kisses dried up
and the bottle too
i've written nothing since your whisky
numb
off liquor licks and honey kicks
now i'm writing
and feel nothing,
but the whisky
you slapped me with rainbow color
now thats grey too
i told you i didn't love you
but really
i do
and it burns too
deep.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
you slapped m'asss wit rainbow paint
then fed me liquor all night long
it was good
tasted like honey
your attention like kisses from someone you'ont know
rushing to that red faced place
where i thought i was blushing
at yourslurredwords
but really i was flushed
and crowded
and felt you
pouring o'r me like rainbows after rain
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
mad world
sad world
bad world with a cigareete in your hand
and a gun down your throat, pop off that cap
of that coke, let it slide down your throat
pooling in the pit of your coat
pocket it, lock it up and throw away the anecdote
that moves you from one being to another and
rides your waves into the next lover
loving every moment of your ten second fame
frame it and loathe it
because it grows upward and outward
branching out, limiting the route that you take
and moving you at a high speed rate
speed ball faster than a super nova,
from over the rainbow and down to the pit
with witch you write your wit and your lick
which sit like whips in the hand of someone more fit
for your position, transition forward and for warn those before you
that the cap in your lip and the trick you can’t flip
exist from things we don’t get
like this mad world
this sad world
this undying, full-flying bad world
that we create
from anger
from love
from up above we put our fate
when its down on the ground that preaches hate
and fear
hear the dawn coming fourth
the sun will come up, and the world will spin
until then keep running your pace
save face
lay waste to this earth, blame it on race
then look back and remember
one feather makes one part of a whole wing
and two wings make a bird take flight
a flight that moves mountains, making height their plight
the tallest leaf of the tallest tree
must be the happiest
stretched to the sun, with only clouds as blocks
reach forward and stretch to the ends of this earth
this world
this mad, sad, bad world
pull the trigger, flip the cap
and bloom out of the dust
up to the sun
fill your lungs with the rust of aged earth
and breathe
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 3:50 AM UTC
your liquor lips
drip down my quick to shiver spine
and the hairs stand
and drink your drips
of your liquor lips
until theyre drunk off kisses and stand tall
feeling the drip drip drips of each wet kiss
and the movements of your liquor kiss
drip drop onto my thighs
accepting each drop like the grass takes in the rain
******* in the moist air and the pair of hearts that move
as one
drip
drop
drip
liquor lips
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
I want to feel you
just a touch of soft thought
thought that wraps its way up my legs, pushing into my being
and out of my worn heart
a kiss that lingers longer than a dying star
flickering quickly and bursting into a thousand moments
that you cannot take away
I wan to feel the breath of each crushing minute
as life moves in waves, so do our bodies
waves that caress the shore of my entity
and wash across my thighs
sweeping over my body,
encompassing what is known and unknown
until you melt into my skin
molding love and life
into
one
single
being
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:40 PM UTC
In our hammock
We couldn’t be touched
Because we were untouched
Untouched by the ground workings and up
From concrete cavaliers and spiral shaped spears
That aimed to wind and rope around the throats of what was already constricted
Instead, pricked by the roots and bark of a growing seed
And wrapped wholly in the warmth of the moon-lit face of a space so close, touched only by shoulders
And felt across lengths until the sky burst open and touched,
Our hammock
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
Go ****** your opinions and your political minions up another ass’s ******* or maybe take that noise, and show some glamour and some poise like the bigs wigs on capital hill, filled with the ideals of the real, reality sets in with a pen on paper and a veto or a stapler to add another pile to another pile stacked high with paper and anger and a wager on top of all that to rate his and her, him and them, freedom or not, this is when the world goes black, back to a rack of what was and what wasn’t and isn’t and hasn’t been or whatever may come, from, whatever’s the machine in charge of the largest country on a scale of humility to ego, eating eggos daily, watching bombs drop and proms go on like any other day, a dance filled way too high with alter personalities and ratchet fatalities. This is another normality in this bleak reality of life. Full of wisdom, full of strife, take your knife and force it down someone’s throat, coat it with words, thoughts, sought after beliefs and chiefs of the mind. Find what’s real, what’s good, something borrowed something bought, this freedom we fought for, blood sweat and tears for, die for, cry for, ride it till its outlasted every past and bold and rash incision upon decisions. Fission fusion and confusion driven, is a country with stripes stars and bars, filled with past and present Heros, veterans, bet again they’re there for the third night in a row, about to row away down te river of blood and dirt and dignity, until the tugging of righteous voices slices the void of sorrow, but that’s tomorrow, today is just a work in progress.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 11:43 AM UTC
Drop kick your wit
Into something more fitting
Something forgetting, lace up your ego
And step outdoors, **** that ***** down the street wit his hood up?
Nah he’s too good wit his hood up
Doin nothin but good and good alone
Until one day, evil has shown
Up on the front porch, with heavy hearts and pitch forks
Pork slow roastin on the back of the grill
****
You hear that
Another one bites the rust of the rimless curb of this never ending, but slightly always pending circle of **** of life
Christ, why do bad things happen to good people
While evil still is a struggle that’s real
Feels, those feels bro, you got me on my feels, rocking on my heels
Avoiding all eyes and prying little flys on the wall
Waiting for that slip up, that stick up, that trick up the sleeve on the eve of your last wish.
Wishes, I have three, one, to never be loved by a shadow of a figure who never knew how to love or figure if love isn’t real, then what’s the waste in time
Time is número dos, time so far in the spectrum of speed and yet, almost comatose. Let me have this time on this rock, pose as a breathing, living, forgiving and seething with life type human, or three will never be for me, humanity. Wish number three, the salvation of man
Because god can, can’t,
Maybe wont, but left in his hands it isn’t, it’s up to the working man, who’s hands are capable with cans, do’s, wills, and preservation
Perspiration, perspire the desire to salvage this green and blue vessel, scavenge this land, back to the roots of our roots in our mother earth. Who’s ground is fertile from the plow and hearth. Seed it with love, time, and the offer of human empathy,
The human experience, fierce with pent up fenced up aliens, feeding off each others brothers, every boy and mothers negativity
That negativity creates negative energy, ******* up the synergy that is the human race for lust, passion, and the same story from times of the dust
Bowl, whole again, manifest density was only applicable in a time where destiny still had the sparkle of a child’s sparkler on Fourth of July.
Lights burst upward, celebrating ever changing forward motion, downward, backwards never ending commotion, two steps forward, three steps back, this roller coaster of insufferable emotion continues onward, forward 3 times now, how rendering change and pain and all that came along with the letters,
F
R
E
E
D
O
M
F for four score and so many years, tears were shed and blood ran fuller than the old miss
R, river, the ever lasting forgiver of time, flowing endlessly and uncaring of the work its sharing, while its purity waxes and wanes, secrets come with battered shame, carried downwards into the open famed arms of the abyss.
E, endless energy and growing conservation of mass media and concentration of governing persuasion and invasion
E, excavation of the once great nation, under all those layers of of white hair and high airs, layers peeled back, revealed the
D, dominating, pervading, intimate lives of the common man, as the not so common wig takes big sips of the white collar melting *** hands deep in the pockets of the rotting underclass, tee tottering on the edge of what seems like a never ending, case of innovating but not so innovative backwards progression,
O, omit the hand that feeds, heed this, and feed yourselves, provide a nurturing seed for those in dire need, if you give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day, if you teach a man to fish, he’ll wish it wasn’t so hard to discard the simple facts and facets of true personal reward. Teach a different man to fish, he’ll wish no one else heard word of this gift, there’s
M, money to had in this type of ish. Money made and the lesser fade out into sea to dwell with the rest, never sinking , but barely afloat while the fish scoff at the ironic twist of fate.
Dears, peers, the ones with fears of hate, hear this, wait, your time will come, theres a fine line between the past and the present and that line is today. This day, Sunday, Monday, fill in the blank day, 24 hours per day, waste whats left of life away or take initiative, begin to wish, are you among men, or among fish, will you be seving the one whos eating, or will you be on the silver lined dish, garnished with yesterdays didnts and “maybe tomorrow’s” real pain, sorrows, will follow you into the future of all tomorrows, but you can create, levitate in mid air, hold it there, an image of what you could/couldnt stand to bear, to manage, not take, make, create what’s yours is yours, not mine, hook, line, and sinker.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC