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poetry is dead
in the venues we
are accustomed
there is no
beat
sitting on stage
preaching
the madness
no
romantics
in stony silence
as the pages turn
we have no
present day
poets
that still
believe in
the written word
and the effect a
line
break
can
have
on a reader
no no no
no more
no one wants
to settle for behind
the scenes
rockstar lifestyles
don't present themselves
to the typists
beating their keyboards
as they do
their wives
but that's how it goes
these are for me
anyways
not you
this is the purging
of every sinful thought
I create
you don't know the
half of it
probably none
at all
but that's how it goes
these lines
all this poetry
isn't made
for kindles
and smart phones
no more
typewriters
or weekly readings
only me
dark in my room
poisoning
the text box
and shivering
guiltily as i
write
one
more
line
the sound of my name
whispered in passion
feel of a new woman
a new world to explore
scent of ***
****** and real
these are truths
I understand
my quantum physics
exists in that woman
lounging on the mattress
confident and cruel
these realities
are tangible
I care not
for einstein
and his descendants
all ******* and spitting
trying to simplify
what is already basic
I care not for
relativities
let space
**** and shimmy
its way
into oblivion
as it
would
unwatched
and let me have my women
angry as forever
as the door opens and closes
come and go
they fight
and they ****
and they flee
and they come again
different names and
faces
but the same truths
I don't need
the higgs *****
or an explanation
of space-time
to figure out
my reality
we gild
our pile of ****
and see it as gold
no thank you
let them rot
in their lab coat
caves
and let me in mine
angry women
and blank pages
all waiting to be filled
a sick
carnal and
unsophisticated
truth
she drives through mile high air
top down on her convertible
there’s nothing to see at 2:00 AM
except cautious flashing lights, at vacant crossroads
and a neon sign or two
ready to fade for the night
after the lounge lizards
crawl away, to their lairs
I envy her, awake in the dark
the cold wind in her hair
going nowhere, while I sit
on the flat oatmeal plains,
calculating losses and gains
like I can place her
in one column or the other
would that put me at ease?
knowing she was more red ink than black
knowing she was a lover of cats
and caffeinated chats
and bedding me was
a horizontal distraction
in her vertical ascent
she was not meant, to walk
on level ground,
or sleep after our mazy mating
she had to see the climb in front of her
press the pedal forward,
and keep her eyes from closing
where sleep would morph into dreams
and she too would have to wake
to another disappointing day
Every door in this place creaks,
shattering the silence of the empty echoing
of faucet leaks.

Drips are part of the  company I keep.
Along with drops, smoke trails and static details.
Fuzzy sounds penetrate the hell I face while asleep.
© June 6th, 2013 by Timothy Brown. All rights reserved.
I'll write a poem on your skin
With my lips, our love tattooed on every inch
At the back of your ear, your delicate nape
Your perfect spine and cheeks like wine

I'll breathe the words in your mouth
Let your soul read and keep my oath
Trace it in your waist and engrave the lines
Down to the lovely hidden shrine

Your eyes on my eyes, my warm hands on your hips
I can hear our poem inside your chest
The rhythm of our hearts will turn it into a song
And with your gentle kiss

*I'll write again.
1.
Because you are lonely too. And you know what it's like to spend hours waiting for a notification that someone values what you say. Verification that some of the people in your box of friends still walk through your forests waiting for trees to fall.

2.
Because you didn't understand the metaphor and so it must be deeper than your reach. Because people who appreciate poets are more approachable than poets themselves, and are far less likely to spend Saturday nights alone.

3.
Because the words look like family. Because when they pass your teeth it's as if your heart joins in chorus, and their syntax wraps cozy round your shivering bones. Because their eyes look like yours and because they know how to cut you, but don't.

4.
Because you are in love. And if a raccoon tore a hole in your garbage bag, ate last week's green chocolate cake, and returned it to your porch shortly after, you would see poetry in it. Because poems look like pies through rose colored glasses and it's really hard to find a bad pie.

5.
Because you hate this poem but won't tell me. Because our relationship hangs on your approval, and you know I'll expect you to make me feel ok about writing this. To tell me people don't appreciate real art anymore, and that's why no one else has responded.

6.
Because it doesn't rhyme, and there are numbers separating the stanzas that force you to read the last line slowly. Because it references Facebook and so it's something you can relate to. Because it's cliché enough to be memorable, and a little out of the box but still inside mine.

7.
Because you know why I wrote it. And you know that seeing your name beside it will be all the consolation I need. Because their is loyalty in a signature that even our forefathers acknowledged, and because it's the best way you know to take sides.

8.
Because the last thing you liked was McDonald's French Fries and you're looking to diversify your portfolio.

9.
Because you want me to remember you. Because we haven't spoken in years outside of birthday wishes and silence is a hard habit to break. Because neither of us is sure who the apology belongs to but because you're willing to take a step on faith.

10.
Because you know the impact an echo can have on its target. Because we all scream from stages built with fearful hands. We carry microphones in our pockets on nights too quiet to sleep and purge our lungs of their angst. Because this cave can not be empty. Because words are not like family unless they are spoken by someone we love. Because some nights all I need is a name to believe I still have my own.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands wherever I go.
we ate dinner together once
if you could call it that
we hardly ate anything
I was sick to my stomach
and you were bored
tap. tap. tap.
and I'm sure there
were plenty of places
and plenty of people
you would have
rather been doing
but no
you were there with me
eating some **** dinner
that we got for cheap
in the back corner
of some **** diner
terrible lighting
to say the least
but the company was nice
I remember you had these
skinny fingers
always elaborately painted nails
and you would run them through
my hair at night
and talk to me about
how crazy we all are
and were and
always would be
but that was long before
this last supper
now all those nails
did was tap
tap. tap. tap.
on the glossed
red plastic table
as you grew more
bored and more apathetic

I was pulling at air
took all I had not
to lose my cool
--already lost
my appetite--
the complex
emotions of the
fairer ***
continued and continue
to be a source of
frustration
your eyes found mine
tap. tap. tap.
and they seemed unfamiliar
the deep brown I had once
discovered seemed hardened
cold
but we both already knew
what the eyes couldn't hide
and eventually
I paid the bill
and you were gone
gone. gone. gone.
my imagination ripe
with your destination
some lucky *******
I couldn't muster
the energy to
get up
from that booth
the kind old
waitress came over
eventually
smiling cautiously
but without words as she
refilled my water in silence
we both knew
it was going to be
a long night
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