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 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
Sjr1000
We've become a
civilization of diseases
we build
monuments
statues
institutions
thinking death won't ever find
us here.

Our minds are scrambled
our bodies are damaged
our food is poisoned
our skies are toxic
our vices
are forces of processes
beyond our
control.

When we are not humbled
by nature's power
we inflict our wounds
upon ourselves in
the names of greed
and self protection
and no one knows
what it really means.

Fearful of the silence
we fill our skies with
endless noise
babbling on in endless
monotones, droning
while traffic stalls
at a hot stand still
idling engines
idling souls
depletion of every last glimpse
of the past.
Jam packed
in the stench
I am lost today
in
this vitriol
as anxiety, death and desperation
from every corner
screams my name.

That's why I came
to these woods
where the illusion of
peace remains
as
wild fires burn
just down the lane
as you know
as you say
its always been this way
when bodies hung
at every cross-roads
hunger, power, ignorance
and strength
all ran
the show.

I'm sick with
every disease I
know.

I float upon these tranquil
blue waters
and
we are reminded of the peace we all
really can know.
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
Kagey Sage
I don’t want to perpetuate the produce – consume loop
but when I don’t, I feel like such a lazy moocher
Could I play guitar near after dark bars for $23 an hour?
Victor and I did that once, for $11.50 each
Untaxed, that’s better than my dour real job
So, if I really made my place at a street corner, I’d be a smart earner

But then I’d be a fixture, like the accordion man and the bums with PVC buckets
The bar goers would soon hate me for chumping them out of their cash
with three gritty “Heart of Gold” covers
Then soon the mediocre bums would jump me and Riot, my guitar
She’ll smash into the walk under a Irish flag in front of Murphy’s Law,
while drinkers whoop and punch the air
The bucket goes over my head
and the accordion bellows squeeze round my neck
I am skilled in the art of the bitter self-slur.
Coward, selfish, ugly, weak,
For now, these are my truths.
I blend them, drink them in,
They make me thin.
I am myself. These are my choices,
I direct rage inwards, flee non-sanctuary,
Take refuge in the trees, and there, a black-eyed dog
bares his teeth and threatens, but I let him,
I pet him. His tongue is rough, and grazes me,
I laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
JM
Fuck
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
JM
Fuckfuckfuckity ****!
I accidentally deleted a good one,  so I left this instead. Because *******, that's why.
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
r
Hands
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
r
Those things these hands have held
gently -textured care-
tactile curiosities
life's measure

A small, blue bird's egg
broken -sadly-
mocking nature's symmetry

Ice
cold -cold-
water making shape

A stone arrow point
sharp still -old-
black as death

My mother's hand
warm -caring-
now long gone

A small dog
wiggling -happy-
nipping, licking fingers

A woman
smooth -soft-
curving heat

My son
my son, my son -my son-
now grown, love unmeasurable

A coin
gold -only-
worth little

Those things these hands have held
measured -treasured-
memorized
lifelines.

r ~ 8/12/14
\¥/\
  |     Touch
/ \
looking good in my leisure suit
like i should be sipping martini's in some classy bar
like i should be flyin first class
looking like i got the cash to get unstuck
but a miami sun gonna melt my snowbunny **** for sure
down here with some human fleas
and desperado's with sweaty smiles
could use a hand
hell i could use a truckload of hands
if ya got one to spare

by the time the bill came due
i was sitting on the beach barefoot and broke
no idea how i got there
last thing i remember was some sweet honey
and her warm hands on my wallet
burning the candle at all three ends now
running low on escape plans
could pay you in sand
got a bucket full
this is one sad tale
never thought would happen to a stlyin' prince like me
never saw this comin when i laid down with the lions

never know where your day gonna take ya
sold my guitar
never could play the **** thing anyway
keep slipping outa tune like the rest of my life
sold my fine china set
my pretty bride hopped a greyhound
headed back to the frozen wastelands
thats ok...the cold suits her ice cube heart
sold my chess set
cause i got played like a pawn enough for one day

look at me now
standing here in the tattered remains
and it shouldn't be a surprise i feel liberated
feel like dancing and raising hell
aint got me weighing me down
who the hell wears leisure suits anyway

sometimes you gotta fall all the way down the rabbit hole
to find the only thing your hiding from
is yourself
here...have a bucket of sand and a pair of flip flops...
you'll get used to getting slowly fried in the tropical sun
and mosquito's the size of a bus
good for the soul is what she tells me
good for the soul
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
r
Night and fog
setting in-unsettling
now that the rain has stopped

the live oak in the dark
creaks under the weight
of dying limbs

mean high tide
at three a.m.
means no ghosts will walk
ashore

U-227 lies on the bottom
not too far out from here
where she went down
in the nacht und nebel
while the live oak creaked
and the ocean roared.

r ~ 8/10/14
\¥/\
  |.     Graveyard of the Atlantic
/ \
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
r
Czech girl
 Aug 2014 Derek Yohn
r
I fell in love with a girl
again, at a bar
My friend said she was Czech
Hard to say
I didn't ask for her passport,
and she had nowhere to carry one
She smiled when she glanced my way
eyes glazed, speaking my language
The Czech girl, making love to a pole.

r ~ 8/9/14
\¥/|
  |      ;)
/ \
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