sal-lake - Hello Poetry

Cracks in cover let Sun in hits like Bullets Unwrapped window Gives solar epiphany To cocooned child Flee fluorescent, Flee faux verve Doorframe: portal Extra-terrestrial World through eaves Like bug zappers See-through walls Most envious glass ****** passage Cold shoulder, concrete, masonry Phosphenes gleaming, staggering Hotfoot, addled eyes Inverted wavelengths Gravel clinging, unwise Scrutinized steps to grass Great big sigh Saluting sky With micro pupils Torrid shell Swollen locks Rejoice Westside: Central Avenue Pack up, load up Truckpower to State Street Beer, veggie dogs Corn-on-cob Bag-of-fruit Checkout scandal Three-in-the-front State to thirty-three Thirty-three to thirteen Chauncey, Jacksonville, Trimble, Glouster, Bonnie’s Home Cooking Opposite British Petroleum Exhausted loan office Opposite Coal Miner Emeritus Burr Oak: closed Margin parking Bathroom clothes Tasteful vest Bathroom tissue to brim Feet welcome Pass up close up camp spots I feel a pull to the valley Clearing: stop, rest Crack, chug, more wood Fire, crack, chug, more wood Chat, crack, chug Copper detuned chime Of that ephemeral vibrato Drone of nine-volt synth Into kaput tape deck & we sing & chant & cackle Campfire chatter: Bitter pill Naïve philosophy Crack, chug Empathy More wood “So when I was seventeen still going to church there were these events they were called “lock-ins” we stayed the night at the church they took our cells our watches took down every clock & covered the windows so we wouldn’t be aware of anything only God & so there would be lectures & guest speakers & bible readings and discussions & also these ******* bizarre activities like they would turn off all the lights light a **** ton of candles & they would blindfold us and give us a little piece of paper and a little pencil and they’d tell us in a omniscient little voice to write down one sin we’ve committed on the little piece of paper fold it & nail it (still blindfolded) to this huge wooden cross with this little hammer & I guarantee every one of us wrote down ************ Now that I think of it the whole thing was about ************ every speaker had some story of how they used to ********** all the time and how they were released of the devils hold and that ************ is a sin and will send you to hell and all of us kids were boys and every single adult was a woman they all looked at us like they read our paper like we were sinners like we would always be sinners just slimy ******* who would always **** off (like we would ever understand what it felt to be a woman or what a woman felt like) & their eyes were gleaming with such shallow sympathy that you knew they were true god fearing Christians” (All at once) Stab, chug, crack, chug Stab, chug, crack, chug Stab, chug, crack, chug Bliss

0

Apr 8, 2013

Apr 8, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC

sal-lake

An Elegy-For-Nothing

Cracks in cover let Sun in hits like Bullets Unwrapped window Gives solar epiphany To cocooned child Flee fluorescent, Flee faux verve Doorframe: portal Extra-terrestrial World through eaves Like bug zappers See-through walls Most envious glass ****** passage Cold shoulder, concrete, masonry Phosphenes gleaming, staggering Hotfoot, addled eyes Inverted wavelengths Gravel clinging, unwise Scrutinized steps to grass Great big sigh Saluting sky With micro pupils Torrid shell Swollen locks Rejoice Westside: Central Avenue Pack up, load up Truckpower to State Street Beer, veggie dogs Corn-on-cob Bag-of-fruit Checkout scandal Three-in-the-front State to thirty-three Thirty-three to thirteen Chauncey, Jacksonville, Trimble, Glouster, Bonnie’s Home Cooking Opposite British Petroleum Exhausted loan office Opposite Coal Miner Emeritus Burr Oak: closed Margin parking Bathroom clothes Tasteful vest Bathroom tissue to brim Feet welcome Pass up close up camp spots I feel a pull to the valley Clearing: stop, rest Crack, chug, more wood Fire, crack, chug, more wood Chat, crack, chug Copper detuned chime Of that ephemeral vibrato Drone of nine-volt synth Into kaput tape deck & we sing & chant & cackle Campfire chatter: Bitter pill Naïve philosophy Crack, chug Empathy More wood “So when I was seventeen still going to church there were these events they were called “lock-ins” we stayed the night at the church they took our cells our watches took down every clock & covered the windows so we wouldn’t be aware of anything only God & so there would be lectures & guest speakers & bible readings and discussions & also these ******* bizarre activities like they would turn off all the lights light a **** ton of candles & they would blindfold us and give us a little piece of paper and a little pencil and they’d tell us in a omniscient little voice to write down one sin we’ve committed on the little piece of paper fold it & nail it (still blindfolded) to this huge wooden cross with this little hammer & I guarantee every one of us wrote down ************ Now that I think of it the whole thing was about ************ every speaker had some story of how they used to ********** all the time and how they were released of the devils hold and that ************ is a sin and will send you to hell and all of us kids were boys and every single adult was a woman they all looked at us like they read our paper like we were sinners like we would always be sinners just slimy ******* who would always **** off (like we would ever understand what it felt to be a woman or what a woman felt like) & their eyes were gleaming with such shallow sympathy that you knew they were true god fearing Christians” (All at once) Stab, chug, crack, chug Stab, chug, crack, chug Stab, chug, crack, chug Bliss

73

We felt as if we’d been born in the desert Passing shoelace factory prostitutes Veering memories of Crab Nebula up-skirts & Slowly obtained convoluted attitudes “(In our sleep) We let the lizards lick our teeth”: The grackle chatter from Four Hand Weaver Met the ears of Guest, who’d arrived in Portsmeth Riding on deep banjo drones from within the ether What else can words be but propellants? They are TLC to mad minds of the 90’s Coaxing the Guest out of hell with mad chants & we, the kids, following blindly “He tried to get me to turn off the electricity Chanting Southeast Asian Countries with Four Hands Somehow part of an insane Sun/Moon allegory” Cries Morgie Saturday morning & We saw a vision: the Guest up in a crescent Cast down from the sky and into the sea Cascading over into a flooding depressant & cut open the fat man who whispered of banshees As his steaming intestines float down by the riverside The boys were passing jolly jokes & joints “They’ll never figure out how to catch a bride When they’ve forgotten how to find the celestial point!” Screeched the Guest with his candle strap Attached to his banjofrigerator filled with Game Fuel “It’s in my veins, it’s in my blood like a death cap!” No longer just a Kentucky Gentleman covered in drool All in all, a teacher, a preacher, a joke A gravel eater, unlike the lizards underground “I don’t eat dirt! That’s a lie I’d never invoke Lizards eat dirt & I ain’t like that crowd!” Men are lizards & lizards are men “& I ain’t a lizard no way, no how! That’s the truest fact there ever has been Aside from something being seriously wrong with me"

0

Mar 18, 2013

Mar 18, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC

sal-lake

the Gracklejack Blues

We felt as if we’d been born in the desert Passing shoelace factory prostitutes Veering memories of Crab Nebula up-skirts & Slowly obtained convoluted attitudes “(In our sleep) We let the lizards lick our teeth”: The grackle chatter from Four Hand Weaver Met the ears of Guest, who’d arrived in Portsmeth Riding on deep banjo drones from within the ether What else can words be but propellants? They are TLC to mad minds of the 90’s Coaxing the Guest out of hell with mad chants & we, the kids, following blindly “He tried to get me to turn off the electricity Chanting Southeast Asian Countries with Four Hands Somehow part of an insane Sun/Moon allegory” Cries Morgie Saturday morning & We saw a vision: the Guest up in a crescent Cast down from the sky and into the sea Cascading over into a flooding depressant & cut open the fat man who whispered of banshees As his steaming intestines float down by the riverside The boys were passing jolly jokes & joints “They’ll never figure out how to catch a bride When they’ve forgotten how to find the celestial point!” Screeched the Guest with his candle strap Attached to his banjofrigerator filled with Game Fuel “It’s in my veins, it’s in my blood like a death cap!” No longer just a Kentucky Gentleman covered in drool All in all, a teacher, a preacher, a joke A gravel eater, unlike the lizards underground “I don’t eat dirt! That’s a lie I’d never invoke Lizards eat dirt & I ain’t like that crowd!” Men are lizards & lizards are men “& I ain’t a lizard no way, no how! That’s the truest fact there ever has been Aside from something being seriously wrong with me"

36

It couldn’t have been a more uninviting day When you spewed out south. Not a chance in hell you’d stay Didn’t matter how dreary. With moss mouth You emigrated from education to eternal dilation Burning each bridge as you crossed it. You put yourself on spiritual probation So henceforth until the roads don’t split You’re going to walk until you can't feel her anymore. Got a name change, got to get strange, With every step she’s that much more folklore. You get clean dreams & exchange Your cheap stake in the “real world” To become both simple & wild.

0

Feb 21, 2013

Feb 21, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC

sal-lake

a Sonnet for the Road

It couldn’t have been a more uninviting day When you spewed out south. Not a chance in hell you’d stay Didn’t matter how dreary. With moss mouth You emigrated from education to eternal dilation Burning each bridge as you crossed it. You put yourself on spiritual probation So henceforth until the roads don’t split You’re going to walk until you can't feel her anymore. Got a name change, got to get strange, With every step she’s that much more folklore. You get clean dreams & exchange Your cheap stake in the “real world” To become both simple & wild.

14

I am in a canyon It’s grand & I am What I am Guilty by Disassociation: I can’t tell the Leaves in the Trees from the Faces in the Concrete My mind is a House of mirrors My faith is a House of cards & god the Dyslexic mixologist I am arresting my Happiness for Enduring life just to Spite me Little do I know: Only I want to hide myself Mush brained In the backseat Fisheye vision & car crash dreams Little boxes fly by Little boxes all the same Q: When do I get a Little box & Carport & White fence & Rolling pin & Next to kin & Worship pavement like Them? A: I am already anchored to asphalt so I’d rather sit here Watching my thoughts Trickle through The membrane & Stain my perceived Self-worth

0

Feb 6, 2013

Feb 6, 2013 at 1:47 PM UTC

sal-lake

bummed

I am in a canyon It’s grand & I am What I am Guilty by Disassociation: I can’t tell the Leaves in the Trees from the Faces in the Concrete My mind is a House of mirrors My faith is a House of cards & god the Dyslexic mixologist I am arresting my Happiness for Enduring life just to Spite me Little do I know: Only I want to hide myself Mush brained In the backseat Fisheye vision & car crash dreams Little boxes fly by Little boxes all the same Q: When do I get a Little box & Carport & White fence & Rolling pin & Next to kin & Worship pavement like Them? A: I am already anchored to asphalt so I’d rather sit here Watching my thoughts Trickle through The membrane & Stain my perceived Self-worth

45

Crack me open when toes curling Sun beam, eye gunk Creation gestures cycle through Transfigured fowl yelp I’m steaming up, boiling over Crack me open when toes curling One true wish: paralysis Rubber limbs in tension Creation gestures cycle through A *** roast cocooned My dreams are the ladle Crack me open when toes curling I take back what I said The meaning of life is in bed Creation gestures cycle through Turn on, tune out, drop in Honey cheek, moss mouth Sun beam, eye gunk Creation gestures cycle through

0

Feb 5, 2013

Feb 5, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC

sal-lake

Honey Cheek

Crack me open when toes curling Sun beam, eye gunk Creation gestures cycle through Transfigured fowl yelp I’m steaming up, boiling over Crack me open when toes curling One true wish: paralysis Rubber limbs in tension Creation gestures cycle through A *** roast cocooned My dreams are the ladle Crack me open when toes curling I take back what I said The meaning of life is in bed Creation gestures cycle through Turn on, tune out, drop in Honey cheek, moss mouth Sun beam, eye gunk Creation gestures cycle through

19

Super Moon! Oh, Super Moon! Why have you forsaken my paralysis? Why have you come from beneath Cloud Mountain only to breach my inhibition? So that I may melt into the grass? So that I may be the leach of this girl? So that I may repair the ill tidings I shat out a fortnight ago? People say a full moon makes us Crazy. Because seventy percent of Our brain is composed of water we Convulse into a Jack the Ripper of Sorts. I’ll tell you I’d rather be a William McCarty Jr., sly as a cat I Could escape this prison without a Word to anyone. Then you can make Your bones into Tally Sticks so that You might keep track of the days Until I’ve slain my last.

0

Jan 25, 2013

Jan 25, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC

sal-lake

PERIGEE-SYZYGY OF THE EARTH-MOON-SUN SYSTEM

Super Moon! Oh, Super Moon! Why have you forsaken my paralysis? Why have you come from beneath Cloud Mountain only to breach my inhibition? So that I may melt into the grass? So that I may be the leach of this girl? So that I may repair the ill tidings I shat out a fortnight ago? People say a full moon makes us Crazy. Because seventy percent of Our brain is composed of water we Convulse into a Jack the Ripper of Sorts. I’ll tell you I’d rather be a William McCarty Jr., sly as a cat I Could escape this prison without a Word to anyone. Then you can make Your bones into Tally Sticks so that You might keep track of the days Until I’ve slain my last.

18

It's cranberry sauce That’s it, I’ve done it My brain is mush Heartbeat through a megaphone I’m pulling on my pant legs Tightening my veins around my bones & I think the thermometer in my brain needs reprogrammed I. Now I’m a cozy embryo With cotton in my marrow Last of my breed so the bad men can’t see me I’m sitting here in my own bullet train Flying through metro lights at night With coruscating sodium vapor Vibrating in my peripheries My appendages do not exist II. We are the carbon monoxide leak We are the cold coaxing hypothermia Still trying to define the agony of existence & Beauty of meaning through definition III. “If you don’t get old, you die” Shut up & pay your taxes old man I can stay young for as long as I want I am healthy I am eternal I’ve got all the cotton in the world IV. I wonder if all sentient life deals With the same paranoia as humans do It’s the reason we never shut up & hold love for vague idols V. I like smiles & I like sadness VI. What does loneliness see when it chases its Shadow? You’ve got a mouse in your hand that cannot know that you are Sentient. You are a wooden giant from outer space that burned upon Entry. Where does apathy sleep when it has had too much to Eat? Why can’t you see your house from three million miles Away? If you need help breathing then you deserve to die in Appalachia. If I lie here long enough under enough blankets, then I'm not real Is it possible to save up enough money to avoid humans Altogether? Just like that, the spiral ceases We were packed Like sardines Wrapped in butcher paper Blind night vision Then deer in headlights Kissing the pavement Mutually requited Uninterest

0

Jan 25, 2013

Jan 25, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC

sal-lake

Cotton Room

It's cranberry sauce That’s it, I’ve done it My brain is mush Heartbeat through a megaphone I’m pulling on my pant legs Tightening my veins around my bones & I think the thermometer in my brain needs reprogrammed I. Now I’m a cozy embryo With cotton in my marrow Last of my breed so the bad men can’t see me I’m sitting here in my own bullet train Flying through metro lights at night With coruscating sodium vapor Vibrating in my peripheries My appendages do not exist II. We are the carbon monoxide leak We are the cold coaxing hypothermia Still trying to define the agony of existence & Beauty of meaning through definition III. “If you don’t get old, you die” Shut up & pay your taxes old man I can stay young for as long as I want I am healthy I am eternal I’ve got all the cotton in the world IV. I wonder if all sentient life deals With the same paranoia as humans do It’s the reason we never shut up & hold love for vague idols V. I like smiles & I like sadness VI. What does loneliness see when it chases its Shadow? You’ve got a mouse in your hand that cannot know that you are Sentient. You are a wooden giant from outer space that burned upon Entry. Where does apathy sleep when it has had too much to Eat? Why can’t you see your house from three million miles Away? If you need help breathing then you deserve to die in Appalachia. If I lie here long enough under enough blankets, then I'm not real Is it possible to save up enough money to avoid humans Altogether? Just like that, the spiral ceases We were packed Like sardines Wrapped in butcher paper Blind night vision Then deer in headlights Kissing the pavement Mutually requited Uninterest

56

You see a kaleidoscopic spongesque speck pushed into a blur over your vision, Sitting on air & feathers. You sit on air rather than feathers, Incased in drywall, Surrounded by your worldly possessions, Drowning in sweat, Suffocating from air, The hum of coupled fans waltzes’ into your skull, A metallic mind prints mass media Via a melodramatic faux-vintage situation into your skull, There’s the pitter-patter of post-traumatic pondering in your skull, A Mexican Coca-Cola clutched in your left hand, Phillip-Morris owns the pocket on your breast so that they sit closest to your heart, Pabst Blue Ribbon has carved rights to your liver, You have an over analytic sense of humor and well-being. Now you decode your day. Now you chastise your intuition for lustful engagements with shadow people. Though you have no qualms with this, You enjoy yourself from time to time. But cannot you imagine a more climatic proposition, In a less disposable universe? Where corners are cut, Shoving dignity & quality out the door Is where impractical risks are made. However, All you ponder now is the blur pushed into the edge of your eye. Perhaps it is a microorganism rendezvousing with another microorganism. Though they would have no concept of predetermination.

0

Jan 24, 2013

Jan 24, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC

sal-lake

Folly

You see a kaleidoscopic spongesque speck pushed into a blur over your vision, Sitting on air & feathers. You sit on air rather than feathers, Incased in drywall, Surrounded by your worldly possessions, Drowning in sweat, Suffocating from air, The hum of coupled fans waltzes’ into your skull, A metallic mind prints mass media Via a melodramatic faux-vintage situation into your skull, There’s the pitter-patter of post-traumatic pondering in your skull, A Mexican Coca-Cola clutched in your left hand, Phillip-Morris owns the pocket on your breast so that they sit closest to your heart, Pabst Blue Ribbon has carved rights to your liver, You have an over analytic sense of humor and well-being. Now you decode your day. Now you chastise your intuition for lustful engagements with shadow people. Though you have no qualms with this, You enjoy yourself from time to time. But cannot you imagine a more climatic proposition, In a less disposable universe? Where corners are cut, Shoving dignity & quality out the door Is where impractical risks are made. However, All you ponder now is the blur pushed into the edge of your eye. Perhaps it is a microorganism rendezvousing with another microorganism. Though they would have no concept of predetermination.

28

I'm fine; I'm in my own little world, though There's someone coughing out my windowsill. In here, I am the king of my castle With rumbling footsteps underneath the floor.

0

Jan 24, 2013

Jan 24, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC

sal-lake

Apt. 6

I'm fine; I'm in my own little world, though There's someone coughing out my windowsill. In here, I am the king of my castle With rumbling footsteps underneath the floor.

4