"chalked" poems
“I'm big, you're little.
I'm smart, you're dumb.
I'm right, you're wrong.”
This is what you've taught me,
but I've learned another way.
I try to be so peaceful,
I practice every day.
I've been through quite a lot,
And I've had to be so strong.
My message must have gotten lost,
been fighting for so long.
You raised me as a woman,
Yet you treat me like a man
The way that I'm reacting
often goes against my plan.
I'm trying to reach out and
you call it my excuse.
What you see as parenting,
Feels like abuse.
I feel very threatened and
begin to snap back;
I realize my mistake too late,
I try hard to retract.
I need some space to breathe,
I need a little air...
You get so worked up;
leaving no room for repair.
I try to walk away,
I try to be alone,
But you will never let it be
And that is set in stone.
I feel backed into a corner,
As though I have been trapped.
You push me all my life
And expect that I won't snap.
I am very agile,
But I am just a person.
I try to learn to bend
so the problem will not worsen.
You think that I'm rebellious
And full of disrespect
Whenever I'm defensive
As I am made upset.
I don't want to feel scared
And I don't want to feel pain,
Once you introduce those feelings
It can drive a girl insane.
I'm sorry that I haven't turned out
quite how you expected.
My problems are ignored
And my person feels rejected.
Expose me to the anger of
which I have been subjected...
I forget why I'm hurting and
I follow your objective.
The things that I'm saying
are just sitting in my head,
You may not remember them
as things that you once said.
I don't mean to preach and
I don't try to follow,
But your anger is so loud
That I find mine hard to swallow.
I'll leave if you need me to,
But that's not what i need.
I want to coexist with you,
I'm just not up to your speed.
I need love and I need patience,
But you have your own issues
And you cannot face this.
It's chalked down to
"He's old and he'll
never change his ways"
If this isn't an excuse,
I don't know what more to say.
You think that we are different,
but we are quite the same.
You don't see yourself in me
And I find that quite strange.
You say I make my problems
Into someone else's,
While doing just the same...
Am I the only one who is selfish?
I never mean to do or say
the things that I have
I wish that you could help me out,
but you are just my dad.
You are who you are,
no matter who it affects.
I just have to get over it,
as everyone expects.
I'll try not to be like you;
Try to avoid all of your habits.
The idea is in front of me,
I just can't seem to grab it.
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
two days
before we loaded the car
with what seemed like the entirety
of my heart and belongings
to move me across the state to attend college,
my baby brother found me on the kitchen floor,
crying
about the microwave.
well,
not just the microwave.
he found me in a crumpled up heap,
sobbing that this day
would be the last i had
to microwave things
in
this
particular
microwave.
i couldn’t justify my lament then.
my dad chalked it up to ***
my brother called me a drama queen,
and my mom told me i needed to eat less microwaveable things.
but i think i might’ve figured it out now.
five months later.
y’see, i grew up an ARMY brat.
attended five different elementary schools,
two separate middle schools,
one high school,
and two colleges.
i was never good at saying goodbye,
but i’m a pro at walking away.
i found out quickly
that while the faces and names
of my friends and classmates
change from state to state,
the character tropes
stay basically the same.
people and places become such replaceable things.
i worry,
a lot,
about being a replaceable thing.
there are talented people in this world.
people that can divine the past and future
from coffee grounds and tea leaves.
but can anyone here tell me what kinds of awful things my footsteps say about me?
there are boot marks,
with my name on them,
in places i know i should never have been.
and clumps of dirt stuck to my heels
that have been with me longer than some friends have.
i sat on the floor last night
while my love explained physics to me.
he told me
that gravity is a constant force,
and of course,
the earth’s gravity affects each and every one of us.
but our individual gravity affects the earth as well.
according to newton’s third law,
the earth pulls of me
with the same force that i pull on the earth.
my mass disrupts space time.
carl sagan once told me
through the clarifying prism of the television screen,
that we are all stardust,
collapsed suns
and black matter.
we belong to no place.
i belong to no place.
i belong to no place.
i don’t cry about the microwave anymore,
i don’t waste my tears on saying goodbye.
i know that every thing and every one has their time,
and sometimes that time is brief.
it’s a hard pill to swallow,
ultimately my favorite self descriptor is ‘infallible’.
but somedays, i fall
just to stand up and see:
the sun still rises,
the earth still turns,
the microwave still makes bomb-ass chicken nuggets,
and i am still here.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
The trellis of oak trees winked,
captured my soul in a spinney,
chalked whispers of free promises
breathy like a silken shawl trailing
Those wise men of old, withered
skin of bark, tall and strong, waving
their introduction. They bowed to me
in free form, in humble escapism.
Sun had stroked their warm palms,
fed them sweet sap. To my left a
stray leaf, rested amid invisibility,
caught the air train, and spiralled free.
Twizzled to the green painted rug
basking under my cotton covered feet.
Reaching out, it blew away,
I chased the freedom fields.
The brook teased it and set
sail under the woody bridge,
green from seasonal tears.
Lost sight as it spun the space
between us. The grass sprung
its beginnings in full Spring, tall in parts,
summer not yet wrapped and
ready to visit us, much less
invited to the summer ball
where shadows are ten a penny,
and sunshine bought on every
street corner. I am among spring
devoured in daffodil eiderdowns,
elbowing out the crocus, snowdrop
chandeliers. I seagull my way,
swaying in step with willow, blossoming
surprising myself, how I let go of
school day shivers, tinkering my brain
into gear for terms talking tightness,
cramming commas, fat full stops.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
tenderness leaves
my eyes in capillary ribbons.
your diamond lips are chalked,
released from rock.
your head, a knot of angel pine—
a dark-brown blooming
sticky and lucked to the back
of my throat.
it is in this moment that
I hear a wisp of rapture
blowing through the oak overhead.
my heart’s motor cranked
like October’s last churning
bumble bee.
*pollination
susurration
be gone…*
you kept looking past me,
your hand on my shoulder.
the precious gauze of your profile
mixed porcelain doll and found a
chisel to perfect your nose.
I feel the love of everything and
you—so unaware of your
beautiful.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
At the beginning of the date he wanted sushi,
I wanted a large pizza with extra cheese that sounded like, "No thanks, not hungry."
It was cold outside and it was raining
So naturally we opened up the window as far as it would go -
He quickly lit the panda candle near the window
as if the spark came straight from his fingers
And all I could think was, **** Even with the wind the candle is still lit. This is my guy."
It was romantic and slow and I was a **** fool,
****** in
Feeling like I'm falling after four days.
A little conversation and some food later, I could suddenly make out the width and length of his eyelashes -
"Oh **** He's leaning in."
His hand surfed the curves and waves of my hip,
My entire body felt like a magnet towards his and
Having felt it all
I chalked it up to friendship
While thinking and dreaming of my "friend" wondering how
How could I have been such a fool?
I broke his heart and mine too.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC
1
Grey sky greyer sea
a litter of rocks balance
coat bright hat blue mittens striped
as on these November steps
you collect the gifts of the ebb tide
2
Glint green this living tapestry echoes
Jilly’s field with tractor not Devon
but salt-flats rocky revetments moorland rising
a map crossed by a chiromatic line
our destiny marked out on this concrete wall?
3
Beached clinkered double-ender
a bay-courser sjekte strand-crunched
fit once for Viking raiders two abreast
now daubed with tin ends of patriotic paint
a sea-steed hobbled hard on the shore
4
Bow faced a sea helmet thrice rope strapped
slow moulded over the boat builder’s ribbanded jig
a spanglehelm of wood
curved sheer straked plank bilged a tuck stern
raising its proud head seaward
5
Viewed from the air a map rolls out
north to the tilted curve of the horizon’s rim
cloud scattered mountained red
betwixt seas sun chalked wine-stained a volcanic isthmus
provokes desert the western waste land of a brooding city
6
Oh face of ropes knot eyed!
you blue cheeked wide smiler
wild wild your head of hair
beachcombed and splayed
wrapped on the sternest post
7
She sewed sugar kelp on the sea shore
a sporophyte with sheltered frond
strap-like stem stiff and smooth
of the species saccharina a spring-tide
stalk set among substrates shells and stones
8
I the camera turned and caressed
by her slight fingers (the pinky raised)
my viewfinder close to her blue grey eye / I
focus on this kelp-needled novelty feel her breath
wait for the thumb press the electronic click
9
Here is the beach walked in darkness
the fishermen shadows against the moonstruck ebb
fingers laced the sea’s breath in our ears
wave upon wave un-folding on the sand and later
we unfold then draw back in love’s relentlessness
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 4:09 AM UTC
My mom found a box in our garage that was chalked full of my past.
Isn't it kinda funny reminiscing on things you thought that were meant to last?
I sacrificed so much and gave everything I have, only to realize that in the end, it's all smoke and ash.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
I stood upside down on the watery
side of the sea line and looked at the
world I was standing on, the stars
blew out and re-appeared like the people
walking past the cafe bench. The guy
with the newsboy cap, made his
rounds around the city, a white-out inscription
on brick caught his attention:
“You anticipated
this time in another place.”
The daughter of the woman
behind the flower stand
draws chalked fish completed with
succeeding circles to indicate
bubbles, bubbles on the asphalt.
She was right: I had learned
to breathe underwater and as a litmus
test I turned my eyes to the single
tree on the island. It shivered
like seaweed. I went up to the stand
and purchased the ugliest peony,
the one with petals that were
chiseled like frozen waves.
I gave the lady
my last quarter and as I
turned around I saw the face of the guy
with the newsboy cap, only this time it was infinitely larger,
peeking over the horizon like the sun
when it first rises. And then, a hand coming up,
from under, fingers tapping from the other side,
taps reverberating through sky,
as though there was inside and outside
and this whole time I was
in an aquarium.
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 8:45 PM UTC
Disdain and enmity,
for which there is no remedy,
gives acrimony inside of me,
for which I have no doubt,
The only way that I can see
an end to animosity,
is a clear and simple breaking free
from shackles which hold me down.
Without your burden, I can be
free to surreptitiously,
achieve a sense of normalcy
to what was once before.
Before the orders conferred to me,
carried out, sans questioning,
I had a life; a dream you see.
But no not anymore.
I used to live quite happily,
free from thinking cynically
of my peers along with me;
Our intentions leave some doubt
To what is just morally,
defensible with sanity.
A torn asunder effigy,
of who we used to be.
My name will fade from memory,
a number chalked in history,
regarded with incredulity
that I was here at all.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
I have Scratched your name
into my Calendar
Your name sits on the lined of my diary
poised for consistent use
At what point did you become
so natural to me
So that when I said your name,
it tasted like nostalgia and hope
and the Cool Fire of our words
warms me to contentment
It wasn't until you spoke and
I smiled
That I knew I missed you when you
were gone
But how can I miss you
When you're only an hour away
Still
I'm regretting the wasted July Mornings
When my nerves swallowed up the sentiments that said
that I think of you sometime, even when you aren't around
It sounds frivolous to say that I'd hope for events
that would draw your lens near
But now I'm budgeting you into my time
and Just hope that it's not wasted
The effort it takes to write these sentiments down is
Nearly incomparable to that effort which must be taken
to Remind the heart on my Sleeve to stay put
and not seep into that vein that will Surely carry dreams across my body
The word that I could entitle
Perfect
And since that word is unattainable here
I'll only say all the others
You're that feeling right after a pull
And you feel yourself slip under the friendly drowse
You're that feeling when you feel a set of eyes on your
blushing cheeks
You're the laughter of
a clever retort
You're a Melody thats gives spirit to my word
You're that fire that burns with
a bravery that you cannot see
You're that ticking clock, there to remind me
that Time is Precious
and Soon I hate that circled square on the
Calendar
&
I pray that that circle does not act as a deadline
for when your heart can be
mine
Because I like the sweetness of our fresh beginnings
And I do hope I may call it a beginning
Instead of a short story.
I'm all over the clock,
Yearning for more firsts with you
But even still, hoping for a second or 12.
And some first that could count
in a way that didn't get chalked up to
Naive Sentiments
Meaning I want you too much
And My head is rushing
Hours into this Instant.
Fast Forwarding to our Next Kiss
Sending me on a Clockwise Whirlwind
to times that may not even exist
But I still hope and Gamble
for More hours to play
Procrastinating the Seconds into convincing us all
That It's Casual
It is not Casual, to me.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
numbers and cost crunching figures
she stood quietly calculating shelf spaces
calorie content
fat overdrive, taste sensation
and slowly but surely automatic fingers
ticked off the cents and savings
and chocolate biscuit treats.
pushing her trolley to checkout
she knew well
where indulgence took over sacrifice
where synthetic fizz was tastier
than real fruit syrup
and how supermarket shelves
connived with the devil.
home again
she balanced the books well
served plentiful dinners
kept the *** boiling
kicked *** out of roast lamb leftovers
yet chalked up a secret piggy bank
empire in a biscuit tin under the couch.
Author Notes
ordinary people? think again.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
Do you remember when love was uncomplicated
Hand-holding, lonely fingers grasping,
Longingly, perfecting their grip?
And do you remember the honeymoon
Highs, up and up, dizzily clambering up,
Exploring new horizons?
And do you remember, precisely, when love emerged,
From clouds of chalked up experiences,
Foreboding as a mountain,
Where lonely fingers grasped,
Longingly, for fresh hand-holds?
The quest for loves summit rises,
Peak to higher peak,
Each conquered height unveiling a new vista,
Revealing loves perilous truth,
That each peak is surpassed by two more
And the summit remains elusive.
The fool will climb up and up,
Leaving a devastated trail of overlooks,
Ever unsated,
Ever yearning,
Ever lonely.
The sage will make camp behind a large rock,
Still aware of the mountains hidden presence,
But settled with a lightness of heart,
To enjoy just one wonderful view.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 8:44 AM UTC
A bouquet hung in afterhour pantry,
A bell to ring the starved noise,
Two spirit's gathering extraterrestrial information,
A stairway chalked by toys!!!
A damp moistness to bleed out ourn Laugh's,
No docteretic sources,
Just serene gleams of minds alike inbathed!!!
Abundance of sizziling swelter,
Bogged heavy in due rain heat,
A voisterous composition,
The crow polishes ourn two's feet!!
I tasteth her plum need,
She gravels our toes,
Fulminations children breed,
In translucent clear clothes!!!
We wither in feathered juiciness,
Where fences are none to find,
Wherein camera's we make to shiver,
We break back's on massage oil chyme!
She reaches over to take mine fears,
She maketh me a warmsome bed,
Different valley's in singular astronomical view,
Both alive, yet so dead!!
Ourn peritonium's hunch in closer,
As ourn cartilage gets renaissance,
Were two alike, a Shakespherian Poe poster,
A darkness and light of Dupont!!!
Puzzles with missing pieces,
Though we ourn selves fill the gaps,
Where none can enter between us,
For ourn chapters are ammophilously wrapped!!!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
I was born wrapped in a black body bag.... They call that foreshadowing...so to lighten my appearance they try to remember me as a white outline.. chalked......upon asphalt.... and say it was this *** fault.... I was only known as an A...4.0 but I never made the cut... as I got my first F....Foolish Acts....Of being born Black... Or Incomplete...As I lay holed in the street...I hate the facts...that I will be a nigga...even tho I know better...But my Ipod teaches me to ***** better... to be a NWA....a ***** with Attitude.... Not a NWP....a Negus With Pride... So I walk in stride... influenced like my ancestors... by music...rhythm and beats... See the devil knows what you'll bop to... rock to... So he muffled the sounds of Love and Peace...and Boosted the way of the streets... hoods.. and Lifeless... So that You would automatically see me as ratchetness... When I could have grew to be the very definition of peace... Now I'm just another problem... and you'll never see me as a victim... only the agitator...because You've listed to the same beats, watched the same feeds and ingested all the fabrications as truths...They have taken it to far making the stereotypes WorldStars And All I ever did was become what you wanted me to be in the first place....A Pale Lifeless outline of white Dust....That you will inhale without justice... #IamBrown
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
I wanted so much to like you;
I had heard so much about you.
Your show sounded like fun
Sadly, too soon I had begun
To listen between the lines
To know you, see who you are
To know behind the shallow mask
To see the ugly stained star.
I forgive myself for a bit of it
Because I know that it was
The method you always use.
I would later guess the cause.
Perhaps myself and others
The countless clueless mass
Mistook the rich and famous
As people with any real class.
I had to see the gaudy penthouse
With gold used instead of chrome.
I needed to see the fake opulence
That you chose to be your home.
I saw you hobnob with famous
And calling them your friends
Soon I would be let to see
The photo was where it ends.
So, I packed away any care for you
And chalked it up to my youth.
Little did I know right then
I only guessed at half the truth.
Because you put your skanky ****
Into the presidential race
And this latest **** of your ego
Means I never stop seeing your face.
Running for the highest office
The leader of the free world
Sure seems to have given
Your screwy hair a different twirl.
Suddenly you dragged out speeches
Of Hiter, Mussolini and Stalin.
You shouted the policies of the KKK
And thew your vitriol all in.
Since too many fools in America
Started chanting Trump, Trump
You seem to want to turn DC
Into something like the town dump.
As for me, I have trouble sleeping
Worried your fans might be letting
And idiot in charge of the nukes
So he can bring on Armageddon.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
Message
in
a
bone
silent
the
thought
left
alone
Ancestral
pre - fone
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 5:33 PM UTC
~A Moment of Happiness~
It started out as an ordinary day,
Any ordinary day in one’s life.
We had probably been out the night before,
This memory escapes me now.
We woke to coffee and cigarettes
As we usually did.
You were on the Gucci site
Showing me the style of suit you had wanted.
We decided to hit Gucci on 5th Avenue.
Parenthetically, if you remember,
I wore sweats and a T-shirt, and you,
You wore your father’s old suit which kept it’s wear.
Here we were, walking toward Gucci,
Debating on whether I should visit Iceland on holiday.
Outside the store,
We were one of the anonymous,
But inside, we stepped into another world,
One of the rich, on 5th Avenue in New York City
Where price tags do not exist.
I remember the elevator ride and our conversation.
Stepping out to be greeted by a salesperson,
Whom I ordered around and kept on his toes due to his thirst for a sale.
A vision of you,
Standing there in the suit chalked up by the tailor.
I handed you a wine glass filled with Pelligrino,
To wash down the Xanax forced into your mouth.
When all was done, we were outside again,
Amongst the anonymous.
Later that night, we sat at the Whiskey Bar celebrating our day.
I remember hearing glimpses of U2’s “Beautiful Day”
In the background and thinking how appropriate.
I thought this was the beginning of happiness,
And there would always be more.
It was happiness, the moment.
All our feelings, yours and mine, all mixed up.
The madness of it all.
You see I wanted to give you it all, the world if possible.
To make you happy, in every viable platform.
I know now you didn’t feel the same.
Left with everything unsaid and undone between us.
Having that one day with you was my moment of happiness.
You have given all you had to offer for me.
For us.
I am here and you are there,
A huge distance between us.
Know, even though we have not spoken,
I am here,
For the conversation, the friendship, the silence.
Remember always what I said to you before I fled to England,
The night we walked the promenade;
Love doesn’t end just because we don’t see one another.
No matter how you look at it,
It’s only Love after all.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
i am made of...
thought...
ink and pen and paper... and so much more.
scribbled phrases on diner napkins.
post it notes stuck to walls.
scrawled doggerel in bathroom pens.
phrased ideology in lined notebooks.
spinnered words on lazerprinted A4.
scraps of inklings, on ripped butcher's bags and wrappings.
condolences in funeral books.
ideas capital lettered on cards,
pinned to cork boards.
epitaphs stonemasoned
into granite blocks.
fury arranged just so,
on parchment.
newsprinted with loose blurry, black ink on broadsheets
scribed by pointed stick on
firm wet sand.
notes on heavy cards, of love
and light bright shiny stuff.
discarded sentence startings, left crumpled, lost in a bin.
loss, written with red wine on white table cloth.
art, etched on vellum anciently old, suprisingly relevent.
tapped into tablets both stone
and techview.
blue and red markers squeaked onto white boards.
daubed on canvas with a fine sable brush.
tatttoo-ed upon ones flesh.
carved into wooden school desks.
pressed into moist clay by delicate fingernails.
marked so deeply upon a soul.
chalked to cement,
to stay for...
but a short season.
written for some very, (un)important reason.
courage to speak, sing, whisper, shout, cry, laugh, observe and ponder.
this is me....
i am a word written down.. any word, any word.
i am undeniable, desirable often incomplete
always open always waiting
for some one...
......just like you ...
to open your heart let me in
to recognize a new start
to have a play, a scribble,
doodle, pen jive. to become
alive.... to thrive,
just begin with a single letter.....then another,
go on be brave...
..........grant me liberty....
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
I contemplate my choices - up into the soft, pillowy dunes covered in seagrass, into the rough brush beyond, down to the slippery water rocks. I walk along it all, past the rocks pock-marked like skulls, that I place precariously on the spindly end of a gnarled, whitewashed log that I foot. I pass pieces of wood petrified in the sand like emerging snakes, spiny, drowning spiders. The sand is chalked clay, clumps creating mini Stone Henges where deer prints have broken it. In the distance are fragile lines of birds that sound like howling wolves. I look out over the water, the sea that wiggles between my toes and spans the horizon all at once. The water laps at my thoughts and in between breathes I hear my cousin calling me. I turn towards her hungover dreamless nap, but still I hear the sea, refreshing my mind and the sun cleansing and lifting me up into the very sky. My feet break the salt-cracked sand back. The path I took before breaks out and unfolds before me like a red carpet on tracing paper and I avoid every step like it would break my mother's back.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
I wonder if the big bang
was a response to god's loneliness
And maybe he sat alone for a long time
half braining ideas
about making things that
might love him
God never said
let there be light
he just put a gun in his mouth and splattered
stars across the wall of the universe
His black hole brain
something like regret
trying to **** all the stars back inside
And I think about the days you tried
But that's not like you kid
Even though you had blood
spilling out a hole in your gut
Bone white shallow breathed
There are still stains on the passenger seat of my car
Which I now call my living room
because I am homeless
And there are no walls that could hold the contents of your head
like jackson ******* bloodspatter
a pretentious painting titled
and homage to the ****** of failure
And you are not our mother
suicide cocktail
no ice
and you are not our father
an Alzheimer's ghost
Haunting a history
we never lived through
You are skinny like water
running down the zylephone of your ribcage
tinny laughter
Asking me questions like
if love is as powerful as they say it is in the movies
then why do people give up sometimes
I'll never give up I said
You asked me if I thought god was mad at you
the doctor chalked up you living
to just luck
and I think of when god made molds of men out of mud
and breathed into them
and the mud men lived
Mud must have felt lucky then
But for us its not luck
we make so much fuss
Just so the world knows
we're alive as ****
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
Tonight he leaves you with a pile of his favorite CDs;
you dream of loading them onto Noah’s Ark before the flood,
along with his 3 A.M. texts and prescription glasses;
he will talk to you when she is not around,
look directly into your eyes, until your heart cracks
and spills into his palms like a weak egg yolk
ready for the frying pan. Do not wait for his little green Facebook
symbol to light up or you will be up all night.
He will kiss her in front of you, a kiss so deep
it could cut straight to the bone like an interrogator
slowly removing a suspect’s finger with a carving knife.
Shield your eyes and turn away;
pretend you are casually studying the poster on the wall.
You will wonder if her body leaves an outline in his bed
the same way a crime scene is taped off
around the chalked-in edges of the victim,
and still he will call you twenty minutes before midnight
wanting to go out for ice cream
when you end up comparing the best 90’s music
over his kitchen table instead. When he looks at you
across this very same table, stare directly back.
Do not flinch. Do not turn away this time.
Let the tidal wave of his stare wash over you
until it drenches your hair
and he wants to comb out the sadness with his fingers:
let him. Let him.
It will take a while to work through the tangles
but savor this last moment with his fingers
unknotting you like needles, before tomorrow,
when he will go back to her again, bouncing
between the two of you like a yo-yo,
the kind that returns to the owner
then moves on to another when it grows bored.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
No town homes in my hometown
We throw up and we throw down
Drinks pour up, tears pour down
No outlet in this port town
Glass crumbs and shards
elephant-skinned sidewalks smeared with tomato paste
the streets remember
potato-tipped death machines
starchy falsetto bullets
the cracking
window
skull
smushy hamburger meat brain
meet bullet—meet steering wheel—meet
ster
e
o
my little brother stays in a shelter
on American and California
where babies
sit themselves
change
is a dollar short
and DST
stands for daylight shootings time
Grandfather time
please stroke your shredded wheat goatee just a little longer
postpone apocalyptic
soon the children will hop skotch on chalked body silhouettes
and jumprope with bungie cord intestines
But not him
my little commando
he will find a way out
depart from home plate
three strikes carved on a flaming chariot
soaring through the sky like barbasol jet streams
the great
escape
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:34 PM UTC
There's a lady in the morning fog
who feeds on porcelain thoughts,
And she haunts the edges March.
There are no five point dancers
With their evening red and gold.
Ready and willing to tumble and fall.
Just her, alone; In the bog
listening to us all.
The beasts only swim, crawl, and fly
By the Sycamore, rotten and petrified.
In Death there is life
And all ears are amplified.
"Testify."
**"Are you the soul that brings fear?
The Specter of my own Heresy?
Get off the wind and answer me.
Will you light the wild and chant the Lord's Prayer?"**
*"Through all my inequities I'll never
know sin like you.
Whip the poor and condemn the youth.
Blame the ******
Clergymen tend to always do.*
"We are justified!
**To do what we do
Is the work of the lord!
Truth will always bend
To the ambassadors' works."**
The feast is for the thin, chalked with divine
And those on shore: honest and rectified.
Breath is man's plight,
And all eyes lie.
There's a man waiting at the edge of dawn
Who purges a man of his own thoughts
He owns his defiled marsh.
There are no five point answers
Without their threaded holes
Steadily fulfilling to us all.
Just him, enthroned; on a rock
Judging us as we fall.
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:39 PM UTC
I hear they opened
a **** recycling facility
right next door
to the ***** store
apparently
**** can be reprocessed
manufactured and molded
into most durable caliber
of ***** ever
***** that bend
but never snap
***** that pull
but don't shove back
***** that give
for evermore
rapping
(articulately, symmetrically)
across adjacent chamber doors
flung off rust hinges
obliterated ornamental remnants
upon electric yellow sidewalk
chalked with stardust parallels
thresheld holding, walked over
most excellent righteous ride
corset finger writhe
on Other side
(evidently ******** is most valuable
as it’s so transparent and malleable)
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Covered in the soot
of last years math lesson
his drooping, purple button up looks as though
it has soaked in as much chalk
as he has knowledge.
A fragile bent-over body
even more worn than his blue jeans
and his thin, but wrinkled hands.
He is witty
Calculating,
and as cool as the deep grey slate
that he writes his stories across.
His white hair matches his dusty fingers--
dry,
and thinning
with nothing much left
to give.
I imagine him going home to a wife
Even though I have never seen
a ring.
His thin, and brittle body
Taking in the warmth of a woman.
A soft woman
The only one who knows how to love him.
She fills up the edges of his concave bones
the tender heart that he never had.
A Juliet who escaped his callous,
chalked-over hands.
A human
that can, somehow,
make him Smile.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC