Don’t release your ******* Just release my single I don’t think it’s stunning When that thing is jingle ******* taste like Pepsi-Cola ******* taste like Marabou See a ***** – I say hola Eat that thing like caribou
There it is again, the craving. I can feel it crawling under my skin. The need to feed is too strong, I can't move. Not until I have it. The poptarts put a dent in it, But it's not enough. The cereal, better, It's coursing through my veins. I can feel myself getting stronger. The pepsi, it fuels me, I can do everything now, No one can stop me. I will be satisfied for now, maybe an hour. Then the urge will return and the cycle will start again.
This poem was about my mom because she has a problem.
From the womb of the night Births the Sun , Admist the wails of rays and light Overshadowed in might the night Slips away in amazing grace And in good graces goes The last fleeting breath of our last night's dreams The epimonic clatter We hear year after year "Goodmorning to all far and near"
There is a Man down the street with a funny eye He sits in front of his shop, hoping that I’ll walk by and buy a diet pepsi a bottled water a bag of freaking chips anything.
But I don’t buy from the Man with the funny eye I don’t know why I don’t just stop in and settle. Thank God Sammy has his store just a little closer just across the street but it opens later and Thank God that the corner store is available at all hours but to get to it I need to walk by the shop His shop.
He doesn’t say anything He just Stares. Or he doesn’t. Sometimes he sits outside the shop sipping coffee or smoking a cigarette I hear He likes to break up fights, but He never starts them He wants to teach me Arabic and I want to learn but I avoid his shop all the same.
Sometimes I cut a zig-zag pattern across the street from sidewalk to sidewalk just to maneuver myself around the shop of the Man with the funny eye so that I can get to the corner store without walking by. But I know He still sees me at least some of the time at least once.
I just know I’ve hurt Him at least once. I’ll walk into His shop and sit down and have a chat buy a diet pepsi a coffee and a pack of cigarettes
A short poem I wrote about a shopkeeper I met on my street while living in Egypt