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 Aug 2013 matt d mattson
David
Hot, Burning
Smokey and black
My life goes before me
My mind goes off track

How it happened?
We still do not know
It burnt to the ground..
In the winters snow..

A cigarette;
falling to the ground.
Could that be the cause
Of this firey mound?

An electrical fire;
Burning the walls
Could that be the reason
Why my house falls?

An unknown cause,
My life's burnt away.
As i lie in the ashes
I have nothing to say
 Aug 2013 matt d mattson
Hope
When you are dead I will change the bedsheets.
The sun will shine for five billion more years.
I will still have green eyes when you are dead
And I will drink orange juice.
I will feed the cats.

Then I will drink. My tissues
will swell with firewater.
My memories will self-immolate.
I will ***** brimstone
and my skull
will be filled with sea urchins.
I will have one scrambled
egg sandwich, dripping and
greasy with mayonnaise.
I will read Bukowski and
I will stare at pigeons in the parking lot.
I will wear purple shoes.
I will get a sunburn.
I will sob
face down in the grass
and a small child will walk past
and won't know what to do with me.
I will ride up
and down in an elevator.
I will watch the sun go splat
over this porcupine city and
bury itself in the smog.
I will watch the horizon
breathe up black until it’s night
and I will wonder
how much colder Mars is.

Then I will go home and kick myself for changing the sheets and I will take them from the laundry basket and hug them to my chest because you slept in them.

The next morning, I’ll be gone too.
(Johnny Cash knew).
 Aug 2013 matt d mattson
Hope
first, make sure you are very concerned with
unlearned or silenced or misread minorities. this establishes that you
are a rarity, a person of charity,
a champion and deity of the small and the voiceless.
you’ve made the right choices
swallowed the right poisons
so now you’re not pointless,
you’re with the top few
of the economic disparity.
do you aver verity?
not so much.
you just make the choicest noises.

second, it is very important that you stud your vernacular
with words like deictic, post-spaciality, and sub-simulacular.
when you, font of knowledge, squeeze out pearls like turds
in twelve-point, double spaced, times new roman rows,
lined up like crows or some other ***** birds,
be sure to write no sentence shorter than thirty words, and
see to it that two thirds of these words have more than ten letters
that even the nerds in their plaid-patterned sweaters have not once ever heard.

when you walk, A paper in hand, from your car to your apartment, past four vagrants, do not look at them.
do not look into the eyes of the man standing in the rain, barefoot, black, green, and yellow toenails oozing and crusting, nodding his head and shouting at no one, and do not wonder whether or not he’d be there had he been educated.

lexicon is not eloquence.

erudition is not wisdom.

intelligence is not a prerequisite for rights.

you have no rights.

take a dictionary and shove it up your *** and
while you’re at it, shove one up mine, too.
 Aug 2013 matt d mattson
Hope
hard-candy crunches between
chattering teeth--warm blue
drool pools down wet chin. wet skin
reeks of chlorine, and swimsuit
sticks to piggy thighs
and pancake chest. eyes
are everywhere: eyes to stare
and judge and mock
and compare. it’s unfair
how these other girls eat
chips and pizza yet
their bodies are set to be
nubile marble demigoddesses
living off six pomegranate seeds.
i am teenage Taweret.

the unforgiving spandex drips
upon the floor, as if i had peed. quick!
get a towel, you’re ruining the parquet!
leg bones, feet bones hit the floor,
followed by white waves of flesh, always late,
rebounding wetly. bones and fat.
soggy pig bones.
 Aug 2013 matt d mattson
Rlavr
I constantly feel cold nowadays
Because the passion that kept me sweaty
Is all gone
Or maybe because the rain won't stop
And it washes away my resolve
But your eyes are awash with the warmth
Of laughter and interest
I thought you dropped me
Like what you do with all your gym classes
Apparently you picked me up again
And to tell you the truth
You're the only thing that keeps me going
In this winter of inspiration
When I feel like all the elements are conspiring against me
And the cold is tearing through my sweater
Through my shirt
So you take my hand when you see me shiver
And you pull me into your embrace
What comforting warmth lies inside your arms
I wish I could stay in them forever
I am reluctant to leave and face the outside world
So you just smile at me and kiss me in the forehead and tell me
'There, so you could keep warm'
I'd feel okay then and prop my collar
It's freezing but I'm ready now.
Oh btw, thanks
believe me;

for i have sinned,
for i have owned up,
for i have learned.
we all make mistakes and i've learned from a horrible mistake.
Charles Dennis

Every time I look into your face, it slides from gladness to
gloom. I don’t know where or when I lost you, but it seems to
soon.

When each day starts fresh, I have hope in my heart  as I catch
sight of your shimmering smile and flowing red hair, I know God
is proud he created beauty such as yours to share.

Where did I go wrong? What have I done to have this pain
stacked upon my shoulders? To endure the hollowness I feel.

When our eyes fall on one another’s view, you see what I and I
see what you and as the spears of shooting white light subside,
we fall in love again, you with me and me with you because we
caught a glimpse of each others view.



© 2010 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennispoetry.com
 Jul 2013 matt d mattson
Mars
They say to play with words.
I see each page is a slide and we
smile
          while
                    we're
                              going
                                        down
.

We're make-shift,
Doctor Frankenstein,
            piecing               together
words                  that
             would             lay lifeless
without our spark.

We're other people, dress-up,
with our lens-less glasses,
pens in hands
that can't quite reach the tallest shelf.


Through our words we rebel,
show the world we are more than naïve.
Just because we don’t think
in refunds and rebates and 401k plans...
Doesn’t mean our futures won’t be bright if


we only hope to gain
a sense of ourselves, in that
moment when the tire-swing
goes so high, you try
to touch the sun.
Crumpled feathers tumbled on the waves,
Part-interred in low-tide sandy graves.
High-tides flush and dig them up again;
King-tides dump them where they will remain.

Tangled bodies salted from the surf,
Shearwaters drowned and turning into earth.
Sun and rain will soon make hollow bones
Little whistles when the west wind moans.
The summer grasses
All that remains
Of brave soldiers dreams
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