"acura" poems
Time travel to Dallas days. We were sitting in your Acura Legend. Your face veiled, my eyes watery from the smoke, I know I hate tobacco now.
"Tom, teach me how to write poems, like yours."
"Okay but tell me first, Katie.
What are you running away from?"
We were close to home,
just sound without meaning,
a kid’s drawing on the refrigerator.
So the answer never differs:
I’m not running away, I’m running towards.
I don't remember, do you,
when poetry turned into dictionaries of devotion.
It was the language of tenderness you taught me,
my extinct mother tongue.
To love the ordinary was suddenly easy.
Those memories
the warmth of you
make it hard to imagine
that you are buried
somewhere in Iowa.
Here, read my dictionaries now:
page after page,
in hundred variations:
„Please come back to me“
and
„I will always long to bargain your soul for mine.“
That little toy airplane, the one you gave me
when we were kids,
still stands on my nightstand.
This time it is my turn to teach,
teach you about the cruelty of freedom.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 5:49 PM UTC
It's a cool place to meet.
25 cent wings.
Nice, tiny booths
Lit by tiny electric lamps
In the guise of candles,
That give everything a nice, golden glow.
It's a Corona light,
And Corona-colored light always makes me feel
at ease.
She pulls up in a silver acura.
Gets out of the car and I can
see her ***
from the front of her
as she syrups over.
She’s got on a Black tanktop;
black bra straps showing
against white-pink
puerto rican skin
all while holding up those veritable C's.
Her hips burst against
a
long, beige
d
r
e
s
s,
and I'm wanting to slide my hands all the way up her shirt to that black bra, and snap it off.
We have conversations about feeling older than
eighteen
and twenty-one
respectively.
Our lips are saucy
and oily. Tiny chicken scraps
can be felt in our teeth.
"I just started reading Starship Troopers."
"Yea, I love that movie."
I've never seen the movie,
but it endears her to me
that she loves it.
"Do you have any plans?"
"Plans?"
"After college?"
I plan on finishing my wings
before you, then I'm hoping
you'll let me hold your ****
"Not yet."
"You know I've read some of your poetry."
"What do you think?"
"I like it," She smirks,
uncomfortably.
She ladles a wing in a slick of sauce.
"Truthfully, it was too much for me,
you really shouldn't talk about things like that."
She brings the wing
to her lips
and smacks it down
with a loud ******* noise
of a working, pink tongue.
I’ve wanted to hold her **** ever since I met her.
Now I’m lost.
Because she’s got black eyes
and I’m not even thinking about her **** or her bra.
I start thinking about how white her teeth are,
and how much two people can never know about each other.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
It ain't no Love i take flight like a Dove
in my mind just beatin' time kickin' rhymes
about Reality but Life's a ***** im married To
only way i Can Divorce is through the Fatal Way
What's the Happy in that? i keep a Hot Gat
cuz suckas be yearning
tryna make into a Steerin' Wheel
and turn me into another Direction
but they ain't fuckin' me with that Indoctrination
Education failed me so the Drugs came to Me
on MLK and Alberta from Houston big rollas
went from drivin' a Gold Acura now im pushin' a
Beamer 7 a 2 quarters Slaughter
the competition on the Streets
suckas be walkin' with Water under they Feet
cuz ya they Slippin' Set Trippin' yo Inf load the Clip In
and let the Bullets riddle through ya Body
like you catchin' the Holy Ghost
i smoke the Most
til im faded out no Doubt
i know i done alot Wrong in my Lifetime
and soon to me my Downfall
cops tryna get me to fall
into their trap but im too Intelligent
i graduated with Honors from the School of Hard Knocks
knockin' boots became a 9 to 5 live
every monday through sunday was always a Gun Play
we don't have murals on our Subway
cuz we ain't got one
but i know that
verse was Irrelevant im never Hesitant
to get the Money its Always Sunny in the Streets of the H
theres always a dead body in the Ditch
Snitches hide in the Dark but like a Spark
to a Blunt we gone set they *** on Fire
and Make 'em Expire
and we still packin' Slugs
givin' a Shout out to my Thugs
with one what?
one Luv???? yo
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Dallas days, smoking in your acura legend,
your face veiled, watery eyes.
Tom, I asked you to teach me poetry.
You opened your dictionaries of devotion -
for me to run away, again.
Under a weeping willow, we dug a hole for a time capsule.
Our lives were small enough for this rusty lunchbox.
See, mine was never a kids’ drawing on the refrigerator,
but a western, a shoot-em-up.
Can you understand, just a little,
how it was home I was running towards?
And still, in strange places
I spoke your language of tenderness,
my extinct mother tongue. With words
so ordinary, so simple.
Those memories
the warmth of you
make it hard to imagine
that you are buried somewhere in Iowa.
I revisited that cow pasture with our tree,
my hands clawing at the frozen earth to get time back.
Tom, you promised me poetry, yet all I can write is
please come back to me
in a hundred variations. How I long
to bargain your soul for mine.
Your little toy airplane, the one you gave me
when we were kids, still stands on my nightstand.
This time let me teach you
about the cruelty of freedom.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
His name was pure and easy
Unlike the quest to figure his heart out
It’s like he swallowed the sun
And you could see it beaming through his eyes
I tasted him like blood in my mouth after a fist to the face
I felt him like fire, flames burning my body until it’s nothing
my heart was fixed on his compassion
His drive and his dreams
But you can’t hop in an acura with a ford budget
You can’t go to the top of the world when you’re afraid of heights
His light will forever consume me
But I’ve grown numb
Exhausted on trying to return to a place that never even existed in his eyes
Exhausted on remembering this broken memory of something that never was
I’m counting down the days until I accept
You can’t surf just a wave during a tsunami
But at least I tried
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
I often contemplate the half a plate that I ate with half a face
Half this juice is past its date
I can tell by its after taste
More than a little bitter..
And the only decency is buried deep beneath the middle
But
Now
The bottom of the base of this cup is leaking too.
Or
Is that the regrets of my heart speaking through?
...
It's hard feeling like peaking when its the weekend and you're thinking while everybody is sleeping
All alone with no reason other than being a rolling stone
That just can't get no satisfaction of his own
I tainted that
So paint it black
Take it back
And make it fast
Please don't make it last
I feel as naked as a monster with no Jason Mask
I feel a weak grip on me...
In a Kryptonite crib built with a crypt
For me
Plus a wet blanket stitched
Just like a quilt!
For me.
I can't tip toe around these eggshells on stilts
You see
This poet is just a character I've imagined up
To handle the damage I've been handed
To saddle up
And steadily battle these matters up
Because the aftermath and after what is after us
Disasterous
If it catches you faster without an Acura
Or master bus pass
Must last through the night though
Tomorrow.
We'll bother to borrow somebody's light pole
The sorrow
So sour
It gets more intense by the hour
So pucker up and feel fates lips drip with power
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 5:05 PM UTC