johnny-hunt - Hello Poetry

the blood on this dental floss is muito rico! i must write all about it; that’ll show em. {espero!} but what will she think of it? i think i'd like to be stuck to her, like a plantain peel on a naked shore. two giggling morons under a chocolate moon. {suspiro...} yet i’m stuck in didactic verse. in a winterland. knitting sonnets about oral hygiene and shaky hands. back in bed now, the words start to come together: “Scatter my ashes in Dublin, Ohio or the Bronx Zoo!" I’m all over the place this morning.

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Jan 4, 2016

Jan 4, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC

draggers

the blood on this dental floss is muito rico! i must write all about it; that’ll show em. {espero!} but what will she think of it? i think i'd like to be stuck to her, like a plantain peel on a naked shore. two giggling morons under a chocolate moon. {suspiro...} yet i’m stuck in didactic verse. in a winterland. knitting sonnets about oral hygiene and shaky hands. back in bed now, the words start to come together: “Scatter my ashes in Dublin, Ohio or the Bronx Zoo!" I’m all over the place this morning.

20

i used to never sleep alone because i had you. if i ever start a poem like that push me down the stairs. this is a poem about missing drugs. a poem about rainbows fighting over dog food. and forgive me for being redundant, but i used to never sleep alone because i had you.

0

Dec 10, 2015

Dec 10, 2015 at 7:39 AM UTC

untitled

i used to never sleep alone because i had you. if i ever start a poem like that push me down the stairs. this is a poem about missing drugs. a poem about rainbows fighting over dog food. and forgive me for being redundant, but i used to never sleep alone because i had you.

9

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Dec 7, 2015

Dec 7, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC

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1

my breakfast of thesaurus and chorus. as to not miss that quick bliss, moment of genius. forcing wit; i’m done with it. i lay in bed and moan: "mouth was a blue sash of rain raining convocations of flesh." like Sonia Sanchez said in her poem to Nina Simone. “owls coo, only see blue, and through storm windows, they yawn like nothing’s new." what did my words just do to you? i hate all the rhyming all the timing. the whining. all this meditating and levitating. but if you don’t swat the fly, you become the fly.

0

Dec 4, 2015

Dec 4, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC

the exhaustion of expression

my breakfast of thesaurus and chorus. as to not miss that quick bliss, moment of genius. forcing wit; i’m done with it. i lay in bed and moan: "mouth was a blue sash of rain raining convocations of flesh." like Sonia Sanchez said in her poem to Nina Simone. “owls coo, only see blue, and through storm windows, they yawn like nothing’s new." what did my words just do to you? i hate all the rhyming all the timing. the whining. all this meditating and levitating. but if you don’t swat the fly, you become the fly.

24

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Nov 30, 2015

Nov 30, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC

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1

kicking around dried up and homeward bound rain is like the sound of trains the neighbors are out of sugar and i am on my back spinning around speaking to clouds and ghosts with no faces still chase kids through the alley and whistle around with arms at my side and both my legs shaking kicking city habits in this old town.

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Sep 21, 2015

Sep 21, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC

Kicking Around

kicking around dried up and homeward bound rain is like the sound of trains the neighbors are out of sugar and i am on my back spinning around speaking to clouds and ghosts with no faces still chase kids through the alley and whistle around with arms at my side and both my legs shaking kicking city habits in this old town.

14

remain wept and kept, go deaf with my little chime. pass me your shoulder, i’ll cry it out. move boulders and boil the tides. grey gardens and gallows. wounded words for the narrow; hanging on lines. move two steps closer and hear this little chime of mine.

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Sep 20, 2015

Sep 20, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC

Chime

remain wept and kept, go deaf with my little chime. pass me your shoulder, i’ll cry it out. move boulders and boil the tides. grey gardens and gallows. wounded words for the narrow; hanging on lines. move two steps closer and hear this little chime of mine.

17