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Jack P Apr 2018
They say a picture is worth a thousand words
And the horse with the broken leg
Is lamentably doomed to the stable.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words
But a picture is still worth not enough
To put any more food on my table.
C.R.E.A.M.E.Y
Jack P Apr 2018
here, take this
you're well-dressed, well-groomed
not quite well-adjusted
but you'll get there soon, one must hope...
apron goes in one hole, loop around, across
here, let me help -
now you're ready for
(re)action...
trip flat palm shaking
ceramic plates
make great crashing sounds
and even better prison shanks
apparently
i apologise as profusely
as a butchered animal bleeds...

"ah, it's alright mate
**** happens"

indeed, it does...

...looks like he swerved
into the wrong lane
one white line up the nose
and Sir Tired Trucker
forgets about the white lines
adorning the road...
everything begins as debris
he was just returning things
back to their natural order
like me, the other day
when i gave the library back its books
see? one and the same...
authoritative man
steps out of the car with the flashing lights
assesses the damage
assesses such a sudden loss of life
and treats it with a shrug...

"ah, shame really but
**** happens"

indeed, it does...

...boys will be boys
they say
hot-headed, cold-blooded
a warm bed and a
home ground advantage...
he took something from her
the only thing
standing up for her safety
be the hairs on her neck
now wrapped around a little finger...

"ah well, i made a mistake
but **** happens, doesn't it?"

no, it doesn't, you ******* pig.
"burn this entire scene to the ground"
Jack P Apr 2018
teacher sent me to the doctor's office
teacher sent me home
teacher sent me to the place
where all the foul things roam

teacher gave me tic-tacs
to swallow when i'm sad
teacher said the chemicals
will make me sorta mad

teacher dries my eyes up
with platitudes enough
to even console all the kids who
are made of smarter stuff

teacher says confusion
is not a cause for shame
i'm not quite sure what teacher means
but i listen all the same

teacher treading tip-toed
lowering the tone:
"i'll help you with the theory here
but you'll practice on your own."
if you are sad, get people to help you not be sad, thanks
Jack P Apr 2018
the great big metronome in the sky,
as those of a Floydian persuasion are wont to call it,
tick, tick, ticks,
with a switchblade intransigence,
for a docile audience, rows of anesthetized deer...
Mr. Whogivesa and Mrs. ****,
and their son,
with the hyphenated last name,
living the namesake...
"don't talk to strangers?"
why not show them the sleeve,
where one's heart resides...
melodrama,
the most lucrative business move,
(then why are most panhandlers still panhandlers?
i guess it's the luck of the draw)
...takes after his Father most,
that being he always stops short,
that extra step,
much too extra to take,
a voyage in itself...
in his standstill,
where the metronome ticks, ticks, ticks,
and only few deer are left awake,
by the dull-glow of drug,
a voice, between drags of a cigarette:

"kid, skipping stones across a frozen lake,
is not that impressive,
but convincing everyone it is? well..."
now playing: song for an unborn sun
Jack P Apr 2018
I've seen better days, but God am I jealous of those who have lived them.
a quick one before the eternal worm devours the bird
Jack P Apr 2018
a dead poet's last draft
- as i am here, unfinished

the leveled howl of unformed chords
- as i am here, diminished

standing at the mouth of a Father's Dream
- as i am here, shaking

the withered heart of an orphaned kid
- as i am here, breaking

---

the Maker dancing giddily around
as his river grows rapidly into sea

i keep terrified hanging from the banks
asking "what is it that you want from me?"

inquiry burning in the sun
alone, it's a rhetorical one

answered by my writing here
Tomorrow is a ghost i fear
selected ambient works and no play makes jack a dull boy
Jack P Apr 2018
we are a horrible team
kicking holes in the twilight like the silence is drywall
like the most unhappy of accidents.

we are two tongues caught in a mousetrap together
waiting for each other's assistance
suffering for the sport, the art.

tomorrow trading songs
coded messages beneath catchy choruses
enough to feed the families we don't have.

for the rugged old men on the highest shelves
who eat too much and spit much more:
if we give you back your own advice, will you take it?

here below's my laundry list
reminds me to air the ***** stuff and
give back what you left behind

..."maybe i will tomorrow", i imagine you saying
for the 1000th 'tomorrow' in a row
what is love, baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more
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