#belt
a shake weight table steak
powdered sugar cigarette
break burning in alcohol
and corn flakes
a big ********* cluster-fuck
of broken noses and carefully
crafted poses posting pictures
of processed hipster's and blisters,
shit-stirrers and culture twisters
jockeying for a spot
all melting in the ***
quiz show **** beads and
fleshlight teenage dreams
soaking through entitled
suburban screens choking
on plastic screams
chocolate dipped cancer fingers
city bus exhaust lingers
prescription bottle salvation bringers
and underneath it all the bible
belt girdles the gurgling masses
of glazed diabetes and frosted
faith pooling in the belly of
America
a fat flabby mess of
snake oil boiling
in stomach acid
and pesticide
"welcome, honey! grab a seat
anywhere you'd like --I'll be
right with you!"
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC
the whole intention of life is to get through it
there is no instruction manual
there is no easy way to explain it to someone
you are conceived and you die
your journey is not predetermined
your voyage can be altered
your trip around the sun is your own unique ordeal
put your seat belt on and enjoy the ride...!
Brian Hill - 2020 # 52
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 10:19 AM UTC
tizzop is the lover of
a single mother
years ago tizzop
knocked at our door
nighttime the remains of
day splattered across the floor
when you think of tizzop:
think of your last
déjà vu and what you
felt
think of early immigration:
the german belt
tizzop: a combination of
people lovin/people hatin'
pride of a nation yet
last letter standing in a
poem without ending
long time ago tizzop
knocked at our door
nighttime the remains of
day splattered across the floor
tizzop hungry; he asked for
food while slowly taking his hat off
to my mom; she delighted since she
saw into the eyes of a warrior acting
quite politely
then tizzop fainted and fell on
the floor obviously he was starving
mom fried some chicken
later at the table tizzop gobbled
bonez'n'skin;
the more i looked at tizzop's
traits the way he moved his
cheeks and chewed his food
i sensed that we were
kin
nobody talked: familiar
silence filled the room
the more i looked at tizzop's
bossy smile and his
black teeth i was
reminded of something
like the déjà vu of a
déjà vu
strong connection between
tizzop and me: he
stayed at our place and soon became
my brother
little by little mom turned him
into her lover
wanted to **** him but
didn't
**** it this poem gotz to be
hidden
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC
You don't get wise with last molar teeth,
Owl Baba is a living proof of the theory.
You can buy shooting medals,
And even a black belt in Aikido.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 11:57 PM UTC
Ride this moment till the end,
With your consciousness strapped behind a seat belt.
Who knows the roads we will take,
The views that we will see,
And the stories we will make.
Jun 29, 2019
Jun 29, 2019 at 7:58 PM UTC
Some times I wish
If I will end like a poem after couple of lines.
With broken stanza, rhythm unfinished.
Some nights I found myself as extraterrestrial,
in Mars, in Jupitar then
lost across the Kuiper belt
So far from the horizon.
Some time I wish
If it's become true
that i never been here myself exist.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 4:01 PM UTC
I came up in Pittsburgh,
the Rust Belt of hard labor
with a deep love of community.
As children, we collected railroad spikes
from the tracks and we cut our shins
on random iron shards in **** hills.
Some of us were union middle-class
and others breathed the gray air of poverty.
That hardly mattered. As we stood atop
foothills that overlooked the city skyline,
soot embedded under our fingernails,
we lived as kings and queens
that oversaw the future.
-Ron Gavalik
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
A bottle beneath her cab in a pick-up truck
or the fifth caught here behind the wheel
If pride wouldn't don a cat about this vision wholly refined again
and like a goat with a kid tied this climb atop the land
and she found with her chickens in this ford or a pig there
to book the dance with them all backstage
and now her life was still full of assuage even so she sings
the finer things in life here with that ***** in his belt.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 8:05 AM UTC
i wish that you'd wear your seatbelt
because i want you and no one else
i wish we were both sedated
because then there would be no reason
to say we couldnt make it
and the car is empty now,
and i can't seem to figure it out -
because now my heart is in my throat
because i don't remember a word
that you spoke
because the music skimmed the air
and i hang on to every note -
now the melody is diguised
in those little lies
while the love we shared slowly died...
so,
i wish that i didn't wear my seatbelt
because now i want to be anyone
but myself
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
Ode to the belt
And how nice it never felt
Ode to the fist
That knew just how to make my stomach twist
Ode to the bruises
Which left no excuses
Ode to my jaw
For that punch it never quite saw
Ode to my ears
All those nights when I could hear my brothers' tears
Ode to my dad
And every time he's ever gotten mad
Ode to the world
And every obstacle its hurled
Ode to ode
And how well it never quite bode
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
I'm glad today that I wore my belt,
Oh the shock that I would have felt,
Imagine the shame,
With nobody to blame,
From what I'd shown in Church when I knelt,
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
in my mother's basement
once upon a time she tied up a clothes line
though most of the time
the line
was used to hang up
hangers
precariously hooked to a rope becoming less taut
as the years go on
the paradox of garage sale hand-me-downs of broken homes
as bodies for clothes become subtracted they make room for memories
we grow heavier by
as the hangers continue to multiply unused
clothes hangers are sacred
they are ghost as zygotes
back then there were days
I would wear my woven leather belt for an inverted neck tie
on those days
tie the other end to the wooden cross supports in the basement ceiling
then tip-toeing up
on a beat-up old stool
play chicken
a game of chicken with nobody
a side of extra mc chicken sauce for the soul
I wonder now
how if anyone would've wondered
if I had died never really learning how to wear a belt
or how to properly tie a neck-tie
kids today wear their pants too low
and parents back then were way too given to involuntary penance
to up the ante
I would write a list on the wooden beams in the ceiling
each time I got up there
for all the reasons I got up there
in attempt to embellish the exit sign
singing ugly duckling swan song echo
sedated by the attempt
training wheels for Icarus syndrome
it wasn't that my youth was in disillusion
I just never really learned how to measure distance properly
a pair of breaking parents
an unwanted pregnancy
"What's with in arms' reach?"
a game of catch
a game of release
a flight of stairs in one step
"it's not your fault kid
but you're gonna have to get hurt anyway"
funny how when you are teetering on stoic infinity
balanced like an idle pendulum
a noose becomes a life-support system
dance like no one is watching
I don't play those games anymore
my bones have gotten too heavy to bet against
memories I still wish to change
knees too weighted to two-step the precipice
on weekends
and since practicing how to use my legs again
and again
I now prefer walking this earth
wearing my belt around my equator
over drawstrings around my neck
the basement has since been renovated
no more wooden crosses
exposed in the ceiling
I don't play childish games anymore
I just do my laundry there
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
Irony; moving
Sun Belt woman to Zone 6b
decrying each freeze
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 3:44 AM UTC
Perhaps I was just,
Another notch on your belt,
Of the 84 women you've ever dated.
I like to think,
What we had was far deeper,
For it lasted four times longer,
Than any of your others.
But you moved right on,
As if we had been nothing,
But a gust of wind in the summer:
Beautiful, but fleeting
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
When the sun hid behind
a cover of trees
You shone with the intensity
of the full moon.
Stars in your eyes
like twilight skies,
Beetlejuice, Orion's belt;
the big and little spoons.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I used to tie knots in my dad's shoe laces when he came over, so he could stay for a minute longer.
I'd block the door until he raised his voice, then strain to hear his truck pull away.
Fishing line,
Hospital tubes,
And that belt I tried to ****** myself with last October have made knots that he could of untied.
But I never invited him to come over.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
In the oiled vat of sadness
Slip of the tongue
Whimpering in the not-moment
Lost the scent of you
Because…. because, because
Because because was, because is, because will
Maybe
Was is, will is, then now, you me
Probably
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC