Hardly thought of yet fondly remembered
moments redacted from memory
adoration and anguish become friendship and folly
A shameless return to missed opportunity
words welling up
the grave of guilt
Torn out but never removed
the heart’s debt to doubt
no pang more painful
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
Looking at him falling,
I wonder what he thought, if he thought. Or if
it was just a mad dash, an act of last resort.
Closing in.
It must have happened so fast.
T T
w w
i i
s
t t
i i
a n d n
g turning
a terminal velocity, a violent end.
Whether cut short, or run its course
it was his choice regardless,
we’re one in the same.
I think I miss the dreams the most.
All San Francisco fog and New Mexico heat lightning, the honest glimpse of a false future.
But upon waking, I remember him, and how it must of felt,
to burst through that window, succumb to fate.
“You don’t know how you make people feel!”
I don’t know how I make myself feel.
He was, in retrospect, the harbinger
of cynicism that would later manifest
in quiet exits and late walks home.
Purposeful, yet regrettable.
I may be on the same track,
I just hope I don’t land on my head.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
Gliding across the hardwood
with band-aids on both ankles,
bare feet collect summer sand and cigarette ash,
a season gone with declining health.
Sliding into frame with street worn soles,
cracked leather and cobbled heels.
Your height is a deception,
your heart, harder to read.
Burrowed in blankets,
the unbearable bleakness,
frost slowly creeps across the window
only to recede when the sun decides to shine.
All the young Allenites with their surrogate Keatons
clog the streets this time of year,
smoking pipes without a hint of irony,
but making me jealous all the same.
The eternal longing
blooming, while the trees
slowly shed their sullen bounty,
a harvest now past due.
A brief marvel at the array
a muted, warm spectrum;
people always ignore the leaves
once they’ve fallen.
They’ve gone,
sentenced to black trash bags
and the joyful stomps of those little nightmares
called children, who won’t let me sleep past ten.
Pale light and a quick breeze,
swept up by the indifferently romantic,
the urge to call home
to a love more tangible.
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
Today I saw a dog couple
walking their blind people.
I wonder if they guide their owners
to pick up their ****
I bet that is oddly satisfying.
People tend to aggrandize blind lovers.
The dedication without visual recognition
But there is nothing special about them.
Because, if love is blind
then blind love is just redundant.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC
The buttons will all be pressed
Men and women
of Conviction and Character
of Love and Lust
of Beauty and Truth and
all those wonderful words those of us without god choose to capitalize in order to fill some lonely void.
Will be killed.
In their place will come
******** and *******
those hawks
who tighten their wings and arch their claws
to pick our bones clean.
Those who seek to remove any notion of
Brotherhood, duty, and compassion
To replace them with
Isolation, greed, and
whatever sort of survival of the fittest ******** they attempt to shove down our throats so we keep embracing the free-market.
Our only retribution
is knowing that they will never be happy
and their children will be medicated
and hate
and die
and stink
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
The generation of
attention
deficit
degenerates
have become bored with everything
I wish I was.
I’m glad I’m not.
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:19 AM UTC
I’d write you a love letter but the thing is
My printer is out of ink and my internet is down
plus my spellcheck is ****** up and I don’t want to
misplell anything.
I should get around to writing my congressman but the thing is
I doubt he even reads those letters and it would
be just too depressing to write to some
old, boring **** who doesn’t give a **** about me.
I get enough of that already.
I might try to write some more but the thing is
I don’t know what to write about and it won’t go anywhere and no one will read it and even if they do they won’t get it or maybe they will but seriously who the **** would put themselves through these asinine ramblings that don’t really mean anything but I think are important and
Oh
How long have you been standing there?
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:18 AM UTC
She asked me
would you like a sample?
I didn’t
I told her
no
thanks.
As I walked
away she asked
why not?
I told her
I don’t
want to smell like
date
****
she laughed
and sprayed me
in
the
******* face.
I’ll smell
like an *******
for the rest of the day
But she will still
work at a *************
perfume
counter
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
I need an analog clock.
I want to hear the slow, soft click of its hands as time trudges forth.
That constant reminder of age, death, and insecurity.
How ******* pathetic.
I’m ******* pathetic.
I want to buy a clock
And then I want to break it.
Time is meaningless.
Everything is important
Everything is important
Everything is important
Nothing is forever.
People seem to find this to be sad, or bleak, or dismissive
But they ignore the larger tragedy:
We go willingly.
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 9:14 AM UTC