beat me to a pulp
you've never cared for me in your breakfast cup
spit or left out
I'm always drawn to the silent kid
Pushed far back in the class.
Grungy hair, never cut back
Flipping his pencil in the air.
I thinks it redeemable that no one knows
Where he came from or where he goes.
It simply goes to show
That he keeps to himself and my curiosity grows.
I don't pine or crush or stalk him though,
I don't know him aside from the hoody logo.
The one he wears days in a row.
And when the teacher called him to speak
His voice was low but hardly meek.
Like a tone that no one hardly shows.
He rarely uses his voice to vocalize prose.
But when he spoke of religious concept
I could hear his sarcastic intellect.
"I don't believe but I accept. It's just a thought of perceptual inept."
That's when I knew I had to neglect
My learning endeavors and speak to this gent.
Inching closer to his desk
I start off slow and ask his opinion of certain text.
He broke his stare and turned it to me
Almost disbelieving I could see past his cloak of invisibility.
Very wary and abruptly short
He told be to turn around.
My brain screamed "abort!"
I lost this one but he was unaware
That we still had a few hours left in there.
And in his silent stubbornness
I simply sat and told him this.
"If William Blake was all devout then in The Tiger why was he calling God out?"
The boy rolled his eyes at me
"Did he who made the lamb make thee?"
Of course he did!
I already knew
That just for a second I was getting through.
"He wants to have the unfailing faith without getting whiny with trials and disbelief."
This took me aback and challengingly seethed,
"If you're defending him then why do you disbelieve?"
He raised his eyebrow in confusion, almost enjoying me
"Hey you're the one who first asked me? Don't ask me a question then mentally ***** at me."
I held back a smile and could instantly see
This shy kid and I would get along perfectly.
The he retorted first asking me,
"You're not some kind of Jesus freak?"
Laughing uncontrollably, I breathed,
"Of course not. Never touched the stuff. Grew up religiously but that was enough. God has my infancy but my adulthood belongs to me."
Then he stopped and looked at me...
I earned a smile
What a blessed sight to see.
And then we sat there together
We waited days to exchange names
Though he was my shy kid
And I his crazy dame.
Conversing over theories
How ours were better.
"No, yours is lame."
We chuckled in the back of class
Quite content for the time to slowly pass
Ripped pages from binded rings
With silent words scribbled
That we were quietly passing.
Never speaking of our other lives
Outside this class of mutual lies.
Just two hours of acceptance thrives.
I use him and he used me
To create a silent under towing
Of our ideas so different and refreshing
It was our home we invented without moving.
This shy kid and I
I can't explain
If you had one to yourself you wouldn't complain.
How honest and blunt you'd never expect them to be.
Go talk to one
You'd be surprised to see.
Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like **** water,
ontop of her head is a big messy bun,
on her body is a flowing skirt and a crop top.
Her lips are full and her eyes are wide and shes lovely to me.
Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like cigarettes,
once I let her go the smell lingers on my sweater and I love it because it reminds me of her.
She had dark circles under her eyes,
pine needles in her hair and shes lovely to me.
Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like roses,
wide eyes and beautiful,
quiet yet well spoken.
She is a girl of many identities and shes lovely to me.
Incongruous by nature
wrapped in ignominious twine
I eat sushi and a 12 dollar slice of cheese cake
Chug two old english and spend the night at the porcelain throne both ends screaming
staring into eyes rapt with fear
all eyes are rapt with fear
Of what then? Death? Shame?
in the rubber belts and fulcrum arms and cogs of the melting ***
all perspectives have value
and the decadence signified in a haircut or a cadillac is nothing more
than the words on the bathroom walls
or little brown note books
Clarity is for saps
Flourish dans l'entropy
Ou mourir dans la peur
The Ugly Coupling of the blue sousaphone suckling
didn't know the blue mouth piece widget
was no inspired milk spigot
soaked with Mr. Creosote
in *****'n beer laden banana bins
weewoo weewoo the maniac is behind you
(its funny how when i'm feeling particularly uninspired my poems always come out like this....)
chuckling happily listening to singing nonsense
with headphones on
9 beats, repeated triplets, phrases
spoken in a mumbling rhythm
(....just jumbled references, slant rhymes and free associations)
dreams of peace in the middle east
as eyes turn upward to see a collard shirt and mohawk looking back
"my god what have you done"