I wrote this after reading some John Ashbery and James Cavanaugh, because well, I wanted to-- and they are different writers offering many options and feelings or no feelings at all.
“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us.
We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content.
We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret.
– James Cavanaugh

Solution to a View

What does it mean
To wander into
concrete places
or an open field
To dangle time
like the wizard of waste
something floats
all around me
and is serious
but it could be
nothing
To be selfish
And lonely
Searching
Through hills
And
unsure
of the surprises
in a melted state
over
discouragement
And
bewilderment of
why I even cared about the
View
after it rained
and after it
displayed
open access  
to death
or
a dream
or my future
noticeable and
unwanted
and unsure
chills
run through my veins
and aching bones
of the likelihood of this
memory
To these hills
hands held high
look down now on
empty streets
broken and mended
like details of a
mirror
and out of respect
for the view

©copyright 2016, Peter Piccolomini

I am nothing but embers
in the fire pit of
your heart

a Godless girl, kissing
with tongues, skin
burning at

the touch of a
weather beaten man

I fell for you, headfirst
into the abyss of desire

warmth rising from my
toes, through to my finger -
tips

inhaling the scent of you
by the lungful

my capacity is called
on, and I am a Phoenix

stunted, hatched too
soon, eternally shell -
less

Genetically. Modified. Organism.
We do a lot o'talkin
And a lotta ppl mad at that name.
But I got dipped in the water to proclaim,
Im a GMO.
The fall of man didnt hold the power to tie me down no mo
My descension simultaneously displayed the ascension of my soul
My eyes glow with the reflection of my heavenly father who transcended from ***** feet with blistered soles
Ive been genetically modified to not see the world as which we know
We're living in the fog worshipping the money that we grow
We dont follow the narrow road
We dont love ourselves no mo.
Spent too much time bein broke
Caught a break, bought a whip
Bought some jays, bought some rims
But gettin towed
Whole house repoed
Iced out, chrome.
gold.
Investments? zero
We need new heroes

Drank the lies that ***** whipped into our minds while we were bleedin on his ***
Breaking earth and pulling weeds
We gluin weaves like, dawg. Where my edges go?
Now you tryna train yo naps cause everybody goin au natural
But you STILL mad cause yo curl pattern dont show that 2 percent of Navajo.
Changed yo hair but didnt change yo thinkin tho
Too long that permed subconscious sinkin through yo follicles
Mother earth dun been pulled harder than those edges
Act like you got some self-respect, go outside and clip those hedges
But her roots dug up
The seeds we sew
Aint enough to feed the whole
The rich, THEY bite the hand that feeds
But their stomachs; still on swole?
People like to get online and fuss,
Stop the GMOs!
Following the likes and living in fear sgonna leave the po--
HUNGRY. ..and po
I mean, what is science, fo?!
With climate change, and the persistent depletion of arable land, where yo seed gone go?
How yo plants gone grow?
Hopefully that won't have to be the case but I get the feelin
Mama nature's feelinnn
So'...

Shoot, Seasons dont know which way to flow
Cause we're walkin down the street throwin trash all on her flo
Like we aint neva been to anybody house befo.
Fillin it up wit smoke blottin out the sunlight
Making her plants choke.
Now the clouds broke.
Cryin acid rain and now your drinkin waters soaked

Im not tryna throw shade.
Im not half as deep as the aformentioned might denote
I aint gon lie
I dont
STAY.

woke .
I dont do my research on every clever quote
That I post
Hey, Im the FIRST one to let you know that I dont know.
But when I DO know
Aaaand I know fasho
And I hear somebody like, yeah this and that and so and so...talkin OUTside they ear. HOLE?!
I be like,
bro...
smh




-*sorry, I'm sleepy and have not proofread

74

A Lady red—amid the Hill
Her annual secret keeps!
A Lady white, within the Field
In placid Lily sleeps!

The tidy Breezes, with their Brooms—
Sweep vale—and hill—and tree!
Prithee, My pretty Housewives!
Who may expected be?

The Neighbors do not yet suspect!
The Woods exchange a smile!
Orchard, and Buttercup, and Bird—
In such a little while!

And yet, how still the Landscape stands!
How nonchalant the Hedge!
As if the “Resurrection”
Were nothing very strange!

I am from soap bars unnoticed in supermarket aisles, from Lux and artificial jasmine fragrances.

I am from ****** motels, suspicion strong in the air; far from the warmth of toasty family cottages.

I am from the bouquet of extravagant roses, the dead white one within the reds.

I am from the cholesterol-inducing pizza nights and sharp senses for both the culinary and your lies, from a sinner and an angel and the brave and just the plain stupid.

I am from the self-deprecating and the highly-sensitive.

From you’ll never be able to climb a tree and you’ll never be able to find another me.

I am from the inverted views of the crescent and the star, on my knees waiting to turn back.

I am from the city of the creatively uncreative and its posers and poseurs, plain bread and steamed rice served on China plates painstakingly crafted.

From the not-so-happy ending of mom and dad’s love story, the blood boiling and the tears rolling.

I am from the well-kept, well-preserved antique shelves hidden under our everyday closets; a ***** little secret, secretly waiting to be saved.

Alabaster teeth at the crack of dawn,
Blossoming storm with a crooked smile,
Can't shake this mist,
Drink the wine that is paradise;

Endure it,
Friends that stray the streets at night,
Grown in the rivers of jealousy,
Hatred is a sword of ink as well.

Is it the way desolation kisses my neck?
Justifying the ghosts on walls as I tire,
Kindness is it's own sort of torture,
Love is just the aftermath of a tragedy.

Misfortune is the deity with the sun in her veins,
Nothing worth losing in my heart these days,
Open riots in the flesh of old graves,
Purpose is just a nickname for pathetic;

Quickly now,
Rinse off all that happiness in the sink,
Spoken in tongues of moonlight and snakes,
Trust me, death is the poor man's doctor.

Unless, it was fate itself,
Verify my passion for silver,
Weighted by the selfish love for wolves,
You are a paradox in the white twilight,

Z is a broken letter, look at how much we have in common with it.

I am sullied
I am broken
Though they are whispered
I hear the words you've spoken
So open
Your heart
Unshackle
Your mind
Bring forward
Your art
And relish
These times
I find
With rhyme
I fly
Inside
But I hide
Unbearably shy
I see you
And wonder......