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CE Green May 9
Funny how foggy mornings stir you up.
Pancake batter lace memory.
Those thick ribbons, waves of thought.
Pleasant valley was somewhat a memorable kinda place, though. To me. My people. We laughed a whole lot. Drank. Whole lot. Smoked, a whole lot lot. Often late, late into the night. Rock n Roll. Look at me, ma! I’m a teenage Lou Reed. Man, we smoked a lot.
One by one we’d filter into the fireplace room, make our peace with the evenings debauchery and lapse carelessly into some thin form of rest.
I’d often be awake before the mice. Never could sleep well outside my home. Even the ******* dog would stare at me as I sauntered toward the toilet. Man, my hair was cool then. Even after sleeping on a floor, and it smelled like wood fire and eternity. Pull a King book off the shelf in the garage, *** a spirit from the half eaten pack on the kitchen counter and get in some porch time and wait for my people to wake up, one by one to come and greet me, to come and say “hey, crazy night dude. How long have you been awake?” That’s not verbatim, but it’s the best I can do to remember what they have said.
I’m awake now, this morning years later. Somehow I’m mostly still the same. No smoking. Pleasant valley a ghost upon my eyes. And my people I gathered with, well, they are mostly the same too. No smoking. Not as lean, married with children or **** near close. And I suppose that’s fine, and we are living our best lives, as slowly as we can. I just wonder if you guys are ever gonna see this, I just wonder if foggy spring mornings remind you of pleasant valley. I hope they always do. Amen.
Feb 9 · 646
Rain Dance
CE Green Feb 9
Pockets emptying
Night time knighthood pay.
We glitter as long as we can.
Reminiscent of ****** stage gags
The scar you left on my hand.
Oh, and you aren’t here any longer
We killed you in a dream.
Your sports utility vehicle
Your visage unseen.
I beg for no further bother,
I’m lost and plumb green.
Movement like ghost shifting
Forever unclean.
Jan 23 · 705
CE Green Jan 23
Year’s end.
Shades collapsed a spell
Amidst nocturne Hex.
Thought wandering back to Diet Coke infusion caffeine memory, goldfish sized. The days where it ends.
Loathing, topspin grim.

Time sprout.
Shades up a touch
Among daybreak incandescence, rooibos serenade, shutting the irrationality switch off.
The days where it begins. Where I learn.
Perhaps I am myself again.
Jan 14 · 844
The Matriarch
CE Green Jan 14
Now I confess, arrest me please
Though I am undeserving and completely at ease.
A quiet obsidian  house, only footsteps to be heard
The fox in the backyard, a squirrel or a bird.
I am the woman of the place, you know
A matriarch of sorts
Fruitful fungi sprout from my back
They are akin to witches warts.
I was found in a dream
I awoke upset
I am all that I need
I easily forget.
Dec 2018 · 359
CE Green Dec 2018
The furnace won’t kick on and my heart is sick. There is no purring or growling from its mechanical insides. The heater, not the heart. Poetry is the cupboard that won’t stay closed, it wants to show you what is behind its shanty stubborn door. The cupboard is heart sick too; with less romantic implications involved. Poetry is the robot that wants to be A.I.
That wants to out perform its human counterparts, and yet empathizes too much with warmly lit LED eyeballs.
Yeah. Sometimes that’s what I think poetry is.
Dec 2018 · 513
Waking from Dream #3
CE Green Dec 2018
All the US states out of place
Backlit map illuminate my chest and face
Montana near Miami
Florida like Kuwait
White rapid water problems
Suddenly irate.
Three birds drunk on salt water
And a feeling I cannot shake.
Part of the “Waking from dream” series
CE Green Nov 2018
For a series of seconds at a time
I catch myself.
Do you catch yourself counting?
mulling over innocuous extravaganza?
Pardoned on proverbial Main Street while adding raindrops to puddles?
Carrying the 3 and wondering so many things!
But mostly
Who turns the lights back on?
When one is swept away.
When we are busy wrapping our most precious belongings and tucking them away for unprecedented purposes.

Now, I can't imagine you've guessed who keeps the lights on.
After all, they were gone before you could blink and Netflix was an afterthought in your dream riddled head.
***** and provocative her wool socks turning you on inhaling burned sage, department store perfume so perfectly autumnal.
More rainfall obliterates electrical transformers, everybody's famed ******.
But who turns the lights back on?
Nov 2018 · 910
And so
CE Green Nov 2018
And so
There you were. I saw you last night, you were unapologetically ****. Common and so uncommon, and said to come in.
And so
I did just that. I saw you last night,
You were ruefully majestic, and you were glowing. I don’t want to say glowing, actually. I don’t like that adjective and it’s over romanticized; but there was light about you.
And so you stood up, and I held still
And so I saw the whole of you, every last bit.
And we let stark grey November light spill into us, into the room. Not our room, just yours.
I was gawking and I felt subtle shame stain my heart.
And in that moment I decided not to feel that way anymore, ever again. And I wished for just a second that I could call you my own, or a part of me at any rate.
My head came down. The bluebird peaked his head out. Yes, he is still in there. Chuck doesn’t weep. I’m not like Chuck.
CE Green Nov 2018
Slipshod Tender guffaws aloud
Breaking endlessly high fiving crowds
The error of our ways lead us around
Like horses by a hand with nothing endowed.
No settlements or dowries
No soldiers of clay
No back breaking memories
Or vertebraes remain.
When Eliot said: “it ends with a whimper”
It troubles me to think, it was said in a whisper.
Nov 2018 · 313
CE Green Nov 2018
How many mistakes am I allowed today?
It’s how we start.
Virtue tallying with dense hands all around so LIT by halogen lamps.
Discovering red hair strands.
Was it that long ago? It wasn’t and you know it. You want to stretch time thin. Arrest your memories and place a giant ink blot over the canvas of your ******* “woe is me” think piece. Clementineian.
In that moment it’s not so interesting, and you find other things to talk about and words offered allow you to take the pulse of the situation.
Written on a whim, forged with adamantium ya ya ya.
Catapulting your empathy on the fly, playing catch-up with a thorn in my foot.
Oct 2018 · 605
CE Green Oct 2018
Mostly these days I enter a room, polka dot populated by folks with too much perfume, or none at all and presuppositions and a cold drink lingering near them.
I carry a shadowy painting with me, but it’s unfinished. It’s meticulously cared for and not yet ready to receive merit, let alone garner attention or criticism of ubiquity.

Mostly these days I find myself troubled walking into these galleries laden with baby boomer critical gazes, though some understand in a competent comparative fashion and look forward to seeing the end result. The saturation, and the color spectrum.

Mostly these days I wander into a tavern with a short story in my arms. It’s falsehood glaring, but with truth inside the lie. It is also unfinished. And yes it’s five years in the making, and everyone gawks, and watches carefully over glassware beaded with condensation, fury during October, the lights come down a bit, and I feel better. Mostly.
Sep 2018 · 194
Father Flannel
CE Green Sep 2018
Usher in epoch of sentimentality
Grazed arms with hickory, penultimate grazer mud nails.
An entire room filled with people I thought I loved, when thinking was entertaining the thought I once had.
Vocal retention. Left and heard, not wanted but understood.
Can you bring me back?
Is it possible?
Can you take me back?
Is it honorable?
Oct 2017 · 345
Vulpone VII
CE Green Oct 2017
I can be a lot of things
I can be an impressive thing
I can wear the hat
I can be a desirable thing
teasing the casting of the hex.

I can be a monstrous thing
chest swelling with prideful posession
I can be a despicable thing
nose upturned with unshakable stubbornness
eating up worlds with my carelessness.
© CE Green 2017
Oct 2017 · 262
Vulpone VI
CE Green Oct 2017
If your heart is full, it must be October again
annexed in California land
every whistle and bell silenced
by Indian summer contraband
Coffee from Zimbabwe
Crimson petals on the sheets
smile in the sunlight, dance to Billie Holiday and repeat.
© CE Green 2017
Aug 2017 · 288
CE Green Aug 2017
Wednesday shook me awake from a dream fleeting:
Something about a grapefruit and how
I just can't find creative ways to hurt you anymore
That is
Without inexorably harming myself.
Caffeine out of wedlock
Enough to take the edge off
An afternoon battered with
Presumptuous dialogue.
Apr 2017 · 589
The Way Her Body Moved
CE Green Apr 2017
These devices are better now, elctro charged
Saturnine lanterns reflected magnanimously.

Let me wait, wait endlessly blue.
Sand scatter, hourglass bottom.
Like Alan I'd tell you I'm in Rockland with you.

Honey, this don't feel the same
eye linguistics and the way your body moves.
Jump at me in April showers and groove.

Damage control, digital and beautiful.
Let's see ourselves out of reality, briefly
and lose our minds in euphoric agression.
Attention grabber, tongue tied neatly.
© CE Green 2017
Apr 2017 · 535
Here and Now
CE Green Apr 2017
Right here? Right now? its just you and I
and the summer architecture.
Shouldn't be feeling this right here,
right now just isn't the time.
The architecture was flawed to begin with
the lions share crafted in low bandwidth.
Cant seem to understand right here,
right now wasn't fit to abide.
Right here? Right now? just me
and calloused fingers
just uninspired and unoriginal
At wits end with consolation prizes.
CE Green Apr 2017
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
the left cheek was uncanny in comparison.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
he harbored weak emotions, and smelled of gin.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
he told me he was new in town and lived just up the road.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
he asked me for a ride to escape the cold.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
he told me he was finishing a book.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
and no, he wasnt an illusion, or a crook.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
clad in a pallid white blazer.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
he offered me his hand; I asked him to count his fingers.

I thought I saw Raymond Carver
he told me he just wasn't feeling golden today.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
I asked when his aspirations ran astray.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver and said:
" 'Why don't you dance?' is really fantastic".
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
like myself, he feels adept at being pathetic.
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
we are more alike than we are different
I thought I saw Raymond Carver
but when I left the storefront window he was gone in an instant.
© CE Green 2017
Mar 2017 · 311
CE Green Mar 2017
The sentiments burned up in the shed fire.
We unpacked our hearts.
Sullen suitcases.
Where is the holy dynamo of our long nights rest?
Exaltation bound.
Cancer stick serenade,
cheeks met with love
Diamond rain due to indigenous dance.
This I know to be fact.
Ohlone ghost omnipresent.
Snap photos to steal souls.
©  CE Green 2017
Jan 2017 · 671
CE Green Jan 2017
When Followill sang "the walls came down"
I'm not entirely sure my heart was there at all.
I do know it was stunned, in stasis, encapsulated freeze- frame
I knew everyone in the room.
They made mimic sounds, and swayed about.
I was locked up.
There was no way I was getting out that easily; the tears would have their time.
Soaked western fabric along the length of my arm upon trying to stop them short.
These flooded emerald windows yield rivers of January.
Curtains down. Applause.
© CE Green 2017
Jan 2017 · 362
Perfect Fit
CE Green Jan 2017
There is nothing better than when your hand grasps my wrist like the beckoning tide to the swollen shore and you place my arm around your darling waistline.
© CE Green 2017
Dec 2016 · 446
Three Fourths Glen Miller
CE Green Dec 2016
The real time enterprise
Unkempt lullaby.
Summer palate
Blue. Solid.
Resting all the day long
Felt up, and nauseated.
Autumnal incantation
Worry prone emasculation
© CE Green 2016
Dec 2016 · 269
CE Green Dec 2016
which person was I when that was written?
an appetite now batgirl'd
you haven't made the pilgrimage yet
and yet you're begging for its cessation
world crusher abandonment.
Africa sized.

bubble gum brain numb
and just three more kisses
teal pints for the ice joust
skin games for the fire proud
beasts of December
© CE Green 2016
Nov 2016 · 359
Odds are
CE Green Nov 2016
Current as of late
Eulogized confederacy
Expunge and exude, you're halfway there.
The halfway dream, the imagination stampede.

Chamomile stasis, dot the I's
Date the wine bottles
Fir Green: come like you are now.

Get in bed with the frienemy
The curtain show invokes hubris
Endothermic and cunning.
Oct 2016 · 556
CE Green Oct 2016
Epicenter malaise
Encumbrance of my days
Cry baby, crying "cray" utterance

Tell me when you've had enough of this

Salt the vice flesh wound
Caramel pump your prediabetic vitals

Make me the boss of when to call it quits
Oct 2016 · 562
Election Day Dope
CE Green Oct 2016
Slip the knife in to feel incredible
Uppity old fiend
Consumate and scheme
A ragged representation
Reveal yourself offscreen
You ain't all what you used to be.

Dopamine disconnect
Reprint the picture
Surrealist architect
Initiate surrender
Oct 2016 · 255
Salvation Symmetry
CE Green Oct 2016
Exasperation noises
Temper your ticker rythym to a standard.
At a glance, washed ashore
Eyelids raccooned,
On baby's bare brown thighs,
The cutest stomach.

Gray light afternoon peek your weary head through the window scatter piece visible lying like lions,
Forrest green
Forehead besos
Time, progress at a slower rate if you would.
Please and thank you.
I'd impart this final thought ad nauseaum.
And once the rain came
It fixed everything.
Oct 2016 · 310
CE Green Oct 2016
Don't you want to take a tug at me?
A sultry stab possibly?
Just enough to deplete our energy?
Miles ran half heartedly
Breathing hastens
Exasperation dichotomy.
Lime infused.
Blood Whiskey for days.

Baby just lean into me
Tricks of the trade that all seem
New and Chic,
Necking games
And outright novelty
Sweater weather feeling incredibly.
Sep 2016 · 404
Penny Stains
CE Green Sep 2016
Neon bodega serenade
Flamenco much unlike Miles
More envy induced shangrala
Sketches. Davis.

"Man, if we only bottled up that essence..."

There was a fenced in electric flourish
Limbo-ED outside the cannery;
Whose father left penny stains
Under the sink?
In Mexican Stand off fashion they ******* iced each other.
Feb 2014 · 906
CE Green Feb 2014
or something in between
left in humming office space limbo.
You're no fun at all when the USB is USE'd up with ease.
White mouse tail rendered down the pilot of my palm and left me with
paranoia disease.
Natural glow, vanished visage
unnaturally slow, famished instance
ebb and flow, iambic finish
fail to show the lavish grimace.
Jan 2014 · 2.0k
CE Green Jan 2014
Jovial mess on bed encapsulates heartburn diarama
a fresh coat Bismuth Business man with codeine red sweet stains on his dockers
3am Dharmic ranting
"job well done Wednesdays"
and "feel good Fridays"
Moronic howling immediacy
immediately vibrating cell walls within the twenty-something aged voice box device.

Burly chest galavant
push up to get the muscle fat
lean, and impress upon
the natural on-and-on
leave the face unscathed along
Have to be outside
Outside where it's most safe
ascend the incline just before the nightshade
lose your technology in the primordial Koi Fish Pond in oxymoronic fashion and let the nature of this dream leer at you from the area down below.
Jan 2014 · 1.1k
CE Green Jan 2014
Old beaten path, bent backward on its axis acting like a scientific textbook projection map.
Becoming something impossible to traverse even for expert woodsmen or a genius of a certain variety that is imbued with Zoom Zoom PED's, just enough red wine, or some self appointed enlightenment that "never failed me before"
Ignoring all traces of anxiety, disregarding inhibition, conquering every whim and mental roadblock desperately vying for success and representation as SOMEone instead of everyone else who writes in blue ink and drinks their coffee black and hides in plain sight and doesnt care what other people think and watches primetime reality television programs and believes in Jesus Christ and chews with their mouths closed and keeps their finges clean.

The Path
remains forever unbeaten
how far we get along it is our legacy that no one ever gave a **** about until we wrote about it.
Jan 2014 · 888
CE Green Jan 2014
On the occasion of downpour and discomfort
I've a raincoat fit for me.
You couldn't imagine it's a person
or embodiment of admirability.

Disguised as a Magpie feathered shirt
it is a wonder so many can see
and pick apart its components with assertion
ending its existence so effortlessly.

With the arrival of mind manufactured hurt
unlike any I've ever seen
I begin to imagine the immersion of my spirit in credibility.
May 2013 · 640
Being Present
CE Green May 2013
I fell in when all encompassing dread peaked
and the tank was arid nothingness, absolutely.
Feeling so ******* sorry for my brain, and it's stem
surrounded by meat and physics and 80% water; under treachery of psyche
a calamine coward shaking hands with the people
attempting change, attempting decisions, never attempting novelty
and always senseless in the presence of evil friends
Mar 2013 · 2.7k
Over Thinking Janine Vega
CE Green Mar 2013
My best work may be behind me
clouded in midnight dust, bottles, and empathic Sha-la-la
That bird is gone now
in the valley astray, gliding through Dream 1, and Dream 2
not an utterance in the ethereal space.
At the brink of Vernal Equinox I am re-imagined:
That valley bird, gone indeed, yet a Phoenix emerges hemorrhaging growth.

The imagination Stampede, the deafening glory cry
It is lovely to have similar feathers, and to talk freely with companions.
I know what this means now.
*Dream 1, and Dream 2
are poems on my page for reference.
Mar 2013 · 378
West of Beat
CE Green Mar 2013
At the thought of the moments
We were choked up like your sister last Christmas eve when the wall came down
and the nails stayed put, rusting in fixture
Not unlike myself after the towel was thrown in, sopping wet with all types of misfiring on
our ends into the CENTER,
Oh, that golden galvanized CENTER!
That loses shine and color but remains glimmering whether we pay attention or not.
All in all:
There is still the shimmering wet spot
The arguments we hid and forgot
Blooming passion spoiled by rot
We go on saying the wall will pick itself up
and we know very well it will not.
Mar 2013 · 566
CE Green Mar 2013
Held below
Now, and forever, I know I'll never escape the underneath.
Tethered and storm weathered
with my independence no longer in reach. (Armslength)

Arrival upon arrival the pattern is ruined, if we leave off where we last picked up the want is mistaken
for loneliness.
Trying to take it easy
Trying to tolerate your plight of reason
all wrapped in guises and relatively decent.
Mar 2013 · 343
Kind Weather
CE Green Mar 2013
In an attempt to attain the creative sphere of somnambulance upon myself
a momentary fluctuation occurs in a weather god of rain.
All we ask is for a kinder treatment (you don't have to like it)
I will sit and listen to the spells you whisper in my ear, coating drums in sweet disturbance, as long as it offers me a chance at a breathing pattern that will help keep me in touch and understood.
Feb 2013 · 332
An Aftermath in Hiding
CE Green Feb 2013
Can't have it all at once.
Although you've received all the side effects and a touch.
Things like this take time: incredibly too much.
But you will be willing to deal with such
using a weak form of patience as your crutch.
Feb 2013 · 380
CE Green Feb 2013
Pull me from the proximity of my week long vacation from independence.
As you were.
the moment the weather changes I'm out of breath and caught waiting.
Allowing you to snag glances over shoulders too weak to carry much of anything but the cotton shroud
of inadequacy.
So to speak.
I don't want to love you like that anymore, though the thousands of questions of another work press down on my eager mind in waking and in sleep.
Pale frown, blemished diamond in your ear.
In any case,
I abhor, refuse, must deny the accompaniment.
Happiness is on the line and hung up twenty minutes ago as I dug my belongings out of a ***** space and left the building wondering why.
Jan 2013 · 366
Waiting Room
CE Green Jan 2013
Sashayed twist of hips, the stars, the key, the lips:
Those that beg for embrace from a distance.
They're nearby but so far off, it seems.
I'll remain here and sit in the waiting room of an expected dream.

It is often cold in there, but I can sense you making it warmer.
You peer in , every so often, to hasten the end of winter.

Spring is a far cry, the month of May.
All the while my mind blooms in a creative place astray.
I can only hope that in a momentary glimpse of admiration
under night shade or light of day, you'll welcome me into your arms
and ask me to stay.
Jan 2013 · 513
A Center.
CE Green Jan 2013
Once left a sequel. In dusty doubt
the time pieces are gathered round and decide against it.
Sewer mouth claw at their shoulders, and sequelization resumes, no playback on playbooks scabbed over.
Make no decision at all.
Caw through cowl's stunned and re-imagined the original:
1977 left his hat on when entering the room and expected a signal before things fell through.
Dec 2012 · 765
CE Green Dec 2012
Onyx in your ears, I thought I heard hell speak climbing out of your vocal chords.
Impish muttering while your caregiver delivers silver accented colloquialisms.
If only they could see you now.
If only you could impart some kinder wisdom
Instead feeling rushed, victimized. Not allowed caffeine anymore, not allowed fresh greens anymore, not allowed to be in the company of other residents as long as you are coughing: letting tiny Incubi voices flutter in your words.
Dec 2012 · 686
CE Green Dec 2012
Stout. A dynamo of opinions about men and about people's cooking, and their habits, of food service, of the dryness of red wine, of kittens and fish, of whether or not we are to forgive atrocities of war or rejoice in ****** splendor.
"Give em' a cup of coffee and make them face the wall. Blam! right in the ******* cerebellum and taken out like swine"
Never a writer like Kesey, or Cosgrove.
But everyone's outlet first goes unrecognized.
Dec 2012 · 450
CE Green Dec 2012
You on the outside looking inward
at the outward glance of Mike, your youngest.
Bovine hands on bovine meal cutting the table
practically in half if the strength would return to him.
He's only 40, but looks 53
ZZZZZ's hurling out, nodding comatose, veins percolating tangled mess in December.
Chardonnay outlet, and there is as much as you can handle.
We are flowing in generous and dire fashion this evening a florescent turnpike of the county.
Lucky the generators kept the convalescent hospital convulsing and very much awake.
He's nearly dead and for a moment, after leaving your apartment, I could've swore I saw his ghost wandering the B-Side hallway, no shoes on his feet.
Dec 2012 · 450
A106 Goldstrands
CE Green Dec 2012
When you come to mind, it's difficult keep the memory away.
The time you scolded me in your old age.
Though it wasn't a scolding was it?
No, more a proclamation of discontent at the thought of my untimeliness; being late to take you to see her.
Frances wasn't doing so hot, lost in a state of degradation, falling out and soon gone.
It is difficult for me to have to remember the tears in your large blue eyes the day after.
Dec 2012 · 523
J.A. Petersen
CE Green Dec 2012
I suppose now would be too little too late.
It was Monday you passed, you made it through the whole week.
And if you could only know the compliments your bouquet has been given, the words sound the same
when they hit my ears and I'm sorry, my apologies.
Angie will miss you.
I suppose that's why she let go feeling
Oh so sentimental but never shallow. I can't bear to think about her much, because she loved you more than I knew love had the power too.
What is left of what that dinner table once was?
Vern has gone, you have gone. Willard abandoned the lot of you, and I'm just not sure I ever want to make it as long as you folks.
Take me out early, so my friends don't die before me.
Found in a manilla folder from some years prior.
Dec 2012 · 325
Now that I know
CE Green Dec 2012
She is the grey that found color
and burned hole into my life.

She may have never been grey at all now that I've seen what she can do to me.
Ignite my frame of mind, leaving my palms sweaty. Bewitched in the strangest fashion.

She is the grey that may have never been,
there is knowledge all around us and she likes me just fine.
Being grey also.

She is the grey that found color
and burned a hole into my life.

She renders others grey at a glance
though she has no idea what she has done.
The color leaks out of them, a thin string taut extending from the nape.

She is the grey that found color
and burned a hole into my life.
Dec 2012 · 666
Low Men.
CE Green Dec 2012
Callow Crooks Cobblestone the name of man
in the sense that there is none to be spoken of anymore.
Catapulted his good graces out of the house to another realm where it's all whispers
of impish names and frozen as Halifax.
You can see the slander in the spumes of breath
Evident as they gallop along
Jumping on crystalline snow flakes.
Flailing, faltering, finally reaching floor too frigid to melt.
CE Green Dec 2012
Mild light. Awake. Soft, warm spot against core.
Hummingbird peeking at me, bed head exposed in pallid dusty day light.
Breathing patterns do not always have to match: romantics beg to differ.

I understand it is my poor health and the years of smoking
I understand you never had that.

Electric blanket machine on 8
will your eyes be emeralds today?
Red wood bark four days straight.

At the risk of looking foolish I undress anyway
She left her clothes off the whole night through and never shivered once in February.
Taking breaths that feel worthy all over again.
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