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Dear soul, you've got a lot to say. Speak.
Dear brain, you've always been right. How?
Dear legs, you've always been my strength. Fall.
Dear arms, you've been the ones to raise me up. Drop.
Dear nose, you've revealed all the fakes. Sniff.
Dear eyes, you've seen the game of life. Blind.
Dear heart, you've shattered with every tear. Heal.
Dear me, you've survived through it all. Break down.
Soul, when will you acquire your voice
And give your long awaited speech?
Brain, how could you have been so right
When everything seemed so wrong?
Legs, when will you give out
And scar from the fall?
Arms, how have you been able to hold me up
When everything else was pulling me down?
Nose, when will you expose me?
Eyes, when will you stop functioning
And go dark to the world?
Heart, how will you piece yourself together
When I cry every day?
Me, I'm sorry.
& The guy with the
:) eyes
took his pistol,
to his head
& Bam.

It's a brain-blow-out!  

Or a
beautiful- bouquet
of blood-black & red roses.

It is for sure,
An Ode To.......
  
Blowing up Billionaires
By the Billion.


& SO the guy with the :) eyes
Blew out the first
half of his head.

While the last half.
Well, it just bled black.
 Apr 2012 Victor Thorn
JJ Hutton
I remember when the photos treated Sam kind,
and yet on the late nights (coffee, gin, cigarettes, the like) --
instead of relaying stories of interstate thighs,
instead of talking in fistfuls and mouthloads --
he spoke of internet *******.

Me, Greg, and Greg's cousin who was named after
an Eastwood western would sink the sofa.

Sam would go through the bottles, and he spoke of
internet ******* with complete delicateness.

"Their eyes always get me. The way they stare into the camera,
and every once in awhile, the veil comes down. You see they
don't want to be there. You see an eager, teenage **** reflected
in their black pupils. You see her quivering lips.
You see the ritual. It's heart-breaking."

Sam would rub his forehead -- carved by time.
Greg would ask how the real ladies were treating him.
Sam never answered.

Time made deeper creases in Sam each day,
behind a closed door,
in the secret hours,
all to the glow of a laptop screen.

He had given his love to the distance
in the **** actresses' eyes.
At my high school reunion
Years from now
In the old gym
They'll ask, whatever happened to us anyway
I won't have an answer for them
It'll be a shoulder shrug
Upward palms
And a colon backslash face
They'll move on to my son
Or work
Or school
Or some distant memory which will undoubtadly begin with, "remember that time"
And most likely end with, "those were the days"
And while they move on with their conversations
I will still have a colon backslash face
And my mind will be in a completely different time machine than the prom queen and the class clown
I will
By the end of it all
Have devoted what I can only imagine to be significantly more time than alotted
Thinking about what did ever happen to us anyway
And when I go home to what I anticipate being a beautiful, intellegent, loving wife, girlfriend, fiancee thing
She will
For a moment
Or possibly two moments
Not measure up to you
And I hope she won't notice my colon backslash face
That she'll end up smiling until she falls asleep

The morning after my high school reunion
I will stand in front of my mirror
And for much longer than two moments
I will not measure up
To the man you could have made me
And I will notice
I will start by ******* in my gut
Running my hands through my hair to try and imagine myself with a different style
I will analyze my wardrobe
And half way through auditing my music collection I will fall to the floor
I will cry
And with you in the forefront of my mind
I will
In true movie scene fashion
Whisper to no one
Whatever happened to us anyway
And worse than not having an answer at the reunion
I won't have an answer for myself
In an empty living room
Because I really don't know whatever happened to us anyway
One day we were
The next day we weren't
It was so adult
I was so civil
Even our break-up will be the best I ever had

The day before my high school reunion
I will cut my hair
Trim my arm pits
And clip my beard
I will iron a suit
Pick a good tie
And I imagine
In front of a mirrror
I will
Be proud of the man I have become

In the years going forward
And leading up to that high school reunion
I will
As a matter of life's course
Have no other occasion
To ask myself
Whatever happened to us anyways
But never the less
One night
Years from now
That question
Will leave me paralyzed
Scared
Heartbroken
Lonely
And even if
I am not alone
My pillow will remember
For one night
Or maybe even two nights
How to smell like you
And my arms
If only for a half a moment
Or possibly one whole moment
Will
With no luck
Reach for you
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
It's a bad day when you can't get Celene Dion out of your head
Titanic was good
It was not that good

I found a dried flower
Buried in Leviticus of my sort of grandma's bible
She must have liked that part
The only quote about Leviticus I've read on the internet is about stoning gay people
I hope she didn't like it that much

I saw a bagel get made
No one has the job of eating the middles out
I'm 23, this was a let down
I still like bagels a lot

I tacked the dry flower on my wall
Above the reminder that it's $3 a day to swim at the public pool in the mornings
I hope it's not a homophobic flower
I hid the bible behind Lauren Conrad's book
Lauren Conrad's book embarrasses me less

My sort of grandma
Is only sort of alive
I often feel that way

I feel most alive while dreaming of the impossible
Realistic dreams lead to disappointment
Outlandish dreams leave little 'remember when’s’'
No one hates themselves for not becoming an astronaut
A lot of people hate themselves for not losing 20lbs

Friendships are often measured in favors
That is all
That was not all
Favors are measured in sacrifices
Favors are not measured in reward

Today is a reflection of not dying yesterday
There is a one in seven chance that today is Friday
And it is imperative that we get down on Friday
Because the anticipation for this weekend is very high
If today is Monday all of that is no longer relevant to our conversation

I am losing weight
As I lose weight more and more fat girls hit on me
I do not like this as much as what I was imagining would happen

I have learned that being funny **** cool
Like I am becoming
Does not mean hot girls will hit on me
It means they will actually think about it before saying no

To supplement my soon to be chiseled physic
I am learning a Jack Johnson song on guitar
This worked for an acquaintance in 2006
Maybe I should learn Colbie Callait instead

The world would be better if schools had better teachers
The world would also be better if high school seniors paid attention to the teachers they already have
I don't know which one is easier to fix

My past seems rosier than my future
Except in the case of February 16th 2007
And now February 16th 2012

Corner buildings and modern light fixtures are my favorite aesthetics
My favorite building has neither of those features
Those features are not that awesome

Dead flowers smell like dead things
To combat this I spray cologne on my grandma's flower
I have never been to a funeral
I wonder if they febreeze the dead people
Or maybe they use Chanel No. 5
This is something I would like to learn more about
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Pleasure is the danger of art,
Its culmunation often mischannelled.

To lose oneself in art is pleasure
But therein lies its frightening danger —
To lose oneself and never come back.
Started off as a poem about food.
I think I'll have some génoise, now.
Headlights flashing in the west lane told us
Something was wrong
That it was only a matter of time
Before traffic would halt to a stand still

Late evening darkness, a trunkload full of groceries
Still another 45 minutes until we would be home
Not looking forward to the chore of unloading
The sorting out and organizing, putting things where they belonged
Couldn't see the end of the line in front of us
From where we found ourselves
At the end of the line
Headlights coming up behind us to take over that position
Pushing us closer and closer to whatever it was
We had been stopped for...

"Uh-oh", she said, and I understood completely
"Wonder how bad it is?"
Even as Highway Patrol cars
Black as vultures with carnival lights dazzling
Zipped by us, close cut to the left, at unnatural rates of speed
Their sirens blared louder than usual
Almost pulled, it seemed, by a magnet
To the scene
A small perimeter surrounded by casino lights
Luring the line of cars forward
A yard at a time
Towards confirmation, their worst fears
Vicariously offered by the indifferent hand of fate
"There it is!", she said. "I can almost see it."

I took my iPhone out of my pocket and opened
The camera application
"It's too dark for that," she told me, a little perturbed
She expressed her disgust with me that I would capture the scene on video
"Ah, but the lights are cool. "
Even then I understood exactly where she was coming from
And I realized that I was disgusted with myself
Never mind, I'd already started, might as well let the camera roll
Cool lights and all

The truck in front of us began to make some progress
Picking up a little speed
No more than necessary to witness
The reason for the wait...didn't we deserve it?
Such a pain in the *** to have to wait

"There it is...Whoa, that looks pretty bad."

The car was facing the wrong direction
There was no doubt that it had been going in the right direction
Before it all went wrong
Alone, though it looked as if it had smashed head-on with a truck
No hit and run, not from the looks of it
Most likely the concrete embankment
Velocity
The automobile's hood torn off to expose
A tangled and crushed engine smoking
A good portion relocated inside the cab
The whole thing looked like a vision
From the mind of an artist
Trying real hard to give Salvador Dali a run for his money
In black and white, exposed only by the bright, flashing, candy machine lights
That made it possible for all of us to see
The cops hovering around the scene every bit as impotent
As we
None were even close to the wrecked machine

Like anyone would have done
Admit it or not
We rubbernecked our way around the display slowly
Slowly enough to see
Only a second or two of noticing
In the miraculous glow
Of the overhead light
The driver

He was still as a stone at the bottom of a pond
Head slumped only slightly
With no one at his side to encourage him
His chances were slim to none
The cops seemed to be repelled by the car
As if none wanted to get too close to whatever it was
Floating through the night air
Coming from inside the cab of that crushed machine
We felt it ourselves passing by and we fell silent
I struggled in my mind to understand why I felt the way I did
What deep wells of my psyche had been tapped
A stone skipping across those waters, the ripples colliding
Splashing into others, forming even more, without reason
Without significance, without a single clue
We were forced to settle for silence and I gave it the opportunity to sink in deep
Until I turned on the radio, hoping for some kind of levity

"Well, there goes the ambulance", I said
As we both noticed it's lights flying westbound toward the scene
"Maybe things aren't as bad as they seemed," I said
She was more realistic:
"Maybe they're worse."

We drove the rest of the way home
Sober and somber
The spirit was still with us
But I could tell it was breaking apart
We didn't notice it after I turned the radio on
The classic country station
The only one we could agree upon
The song was just beginning to fade out
I recognized it as Eddie Rabbit's biggest hit
"Driving My Life Away"
And I couldn't help but think,
Someone's got a wicked sense of humor
 May 2011 Victor Thorn
JJ Hutton
step into the light--
show yrself--
my black-eyed,
horned,
*******--
stir me up,
shut me out,
string me up--

end tonight.
the pools
of fear
swirling in your belly
drown the saneness
of my eccentric existence.
end tonight.

step into the light--
show yrself to me,
dripping with sweat,
draining me of strength,
drilling me with smartmouthings--

poison crib.
poison crypt.
pretty curls.
petty cruelty.

hitting bricks,
slitting necks,
creeping beasts,
show yrself.

the moon
beckons you.
the mercy
forgets you.
my fist
tightens.
my blood lightens.
endtimes
begin
with the sanctity
of illumination.
 Feb 2011 Victor Thorn
Bathsheba
WOMEN

I cast you out for pandering your ***

WOMEN

You are shameful

On you

I gift this hex:

If you need to be the object of manly gratification
If you have no interest in the freedom or the liberation
Then your life will now be governed by the exploitation
A vessel pure and simple for man’s *******


WOMEN

You are worthless

**** upon my shoe

Read between the lines my friend

Figure out the *clue


For it is in here somewhere

Deep within this write

Nothing's ever as it seems

Nothing's black and white

WOMEN

Does a bloke walk round?

With his ***** hanging out?

Does he emphasize his testicles?

Does he bandy it about?

I think you know the answer

Just stop and use that brain

Then maybe in the future

Equality will rightly be reclaimed

But all the time you flaunt your ****

****** you ***** in their face

You, my friend

To the sisterhood

Are a ******* skanky **** disgrace

Wake up and smell the Costa

For conditioning is wrong

You need to understand

You cause The Cause to be prolonged

This is my stand

I hold my own

I’m never fazed

By stick nor stone

For I know deep within my heart

The value of my worth

I will never sell my principles

For merriment or mirth

*So … please …. just take a moment

To digest

The words within this write

Unharness faux benevolent blinkers

Because this is our absolute pre-emptive right
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