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I was this small bee
Buzzing for food
He attracted
Me by his color
But then as I tasted his nectar
My whole body
Became weak with
Distaste
Of him
“It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a sea gull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with death!”

“Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and crushing you to the earth, be drunken continually.

Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.”

Eugene O'Neill,  Long Day's Journey Into Night
 May 2018 Vinnie Brown
laura
owoo! girl touch me, pop me
some more of that bubbly
don’t you need me, want me
some more of that body

that song’s gotten pretty stuck
in my head and with pen and paper
i get a little obnoxious but don’t
you love it when i do?
A note: oh so now this poem is reflecting my silly side? what about classic ones like “The Fruity Man” or even “Camel man?” Those are way sillier than this one.
 May 2018 Vinnie Brown
laura
bananas, bananas, yeah, let’s
b-a-n-a-n-a-s, go bananas, go ballistic
bet you’d like to see me eat a banana

the sun is an orange but my mind’s
already gone fruity, tuesdays and wednesday
are for the stuff i didn’t do on monday

crunch time, getting to my job
is kinda difficult without a car or a bike
and they know i’m too bananas
to drive or ride either
thought i was going crazy, but i guess hello poetry is saved
 May 2018 Vinnie Brown
s s f w s
There are pleasant waters.
There are unpleasant waters.
The way you drink can interchange the feel of consumption.
for Harlon
who recalled them to me five years later, asking for the all of them...

only on Mother’s Day +1
and for Miriam
———————————
My Mother is Dying July 2013
My mother is dying.
It is a process. Days pass,
She neither eats or drinks,
Yet she lives on.

I watch each labored exhalation,
A subtraction, a countdown.
It is as if she was returning each singular day,
Every prayer uttered, answered and unanswered,
Every word e're spoke, every dream dreamt,
She ever possessed to the atmosphere,
For sharing, for recalling, for retelling,
One breath at a time.
~~~~~~~~~
Lipstadt-Roth, Miriam née Peiman, 1915~2013,
passed peacefully Sat. July 20th.  

Critic, speaker, writer,  
her fiercest feat,                    
her leading role, creator.      
A near century of memories  
her legacy, memories that  
linger not, for incised,        
chiseled in the granite of the
books, papers, and poetry
and the very being              
of her descendants.            

Her faith in Almighty,            
unflagging, for he did not    
forsake her in the time of      
her old age, when                  
her strength failed.
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