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"dealerships" poems
The falling stars in this ironic night make majesties out of those cubicle-ridden New Yorkers' routine Tuesday night daydreams, where they make macabre escape routes out of every perfectly-placed window piercing the concrete sentences that escalate from Ground Zero. Your law offices, corporate ******* headquarters, are all bursting at the seams with these drones, the falling stars of the human race, all composed of 14 different shades of grayscale; could've been should've been could've been shootin' stars that year they were promised lives of upper middle class incomes and Lexus dealerships bought to dent their status on the neighborhood, but that sparkle's been emaciated by the truth, the underwhelming spectacle of realization accentuated by the clicking and the clacking of company keyboards, each little click gnawing more at their patience than the next; the faceless brush strokes gawk through that window, their plans less hypothetical over the calendar years. "I can hear it calling me from miles away," says Copy #90045280, "see, they SPEAK to me, man, tell me to transcend the hurdle of the windowsill and make my rendezvous with an asphalt avenue, to join the other casualties of this rut-infested nation in a life with the real stars, falling and shooting and jettisoning alike, throbbing lights through dark sky silk and into the hearts of even the most robotic of this catalog culture, and I frightfully, excitedly, must listen."
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Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:53 AM UTC
Manhattan Astronomy
I remember I was sixteen, and it was raining. My father told me he was going to take me somewhere I'd never been before, and I knew immediately where it was we were headed. As we drove past used car dealerships all claiming to have the lowest rates, and Dominican and Cuban restaurants painted in their vivid reds and whites and blues, their reflections painted the roads in murky puddles of summer rain and gasoline. Turning into the cemetery we were unsure of where to look for my grandfather's grave as Jewish names cascaded by us; and there it was. It was thundering then, so we waited for the weather to calm a bit and then we hopped out of the car. We walked over to my grandfather's tombstone, and placed our respective rocks atop it. Then my dad and I stepped back, looking at my grandfather's grave. And while smiling in the way that is appropriate in cemeteries, when recalling a fond moment with a loved one, the sun began to shine on our backs.
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Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
On Visiting Grandfather's Grave
I found you in peeling silk shadows and socially unacceptable acronyms. I met you and you remade me in the image of self-realized dreams. Frayed heartstrings blossom from used ***** dealerships. Spinal cord columns, rib rotunda, cranium cabaret and Lazarus lungs. We hugged on collarbones and loved in dimples. We ran. We ran along shores we never knew, skirted expectations like cliff-side raceways. Somewhere along a three way road of cobblestone delusions, at an intersection of gas stations advertising ninety-nine cent perfection, we misread the legend and the map lied anyways. There are no u-turns in relationships. You made me dependent upon perfectly posed pixels and lacing my fingers with the air. Half of lace is empty space.
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Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Half of Lace
Digging through the pile, always looking for a match Some thing to stop the pain, some kind of fix or patch She knows not what she needs, but searches nonetheless She knows not what's her goal, she does not reassess Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? She often finds a fix, or finds some thing to use No logic when she looks, why search when you can choose The only parts that fit, only work for a while The only parts that fit, are at the bottom of the pile Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? The dealerships still open, her heart it still does bleed When will she stop this search, they'll sell her what she needs Money's not the issue, for everything is free Money's not the issue, I'm sure she would agree Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? Now she starts to panic, the salvaged parts were cheap Knows not what to do so she falls over to weep She realizes now, the junk yard parts all break She realizes now, she's made a huge mistake Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? Thinking clearly now, she knows where she must go The pains already stopped, her face is all aglow She knows what she must do, the junk yard she must leave She knows what she must do, and what she can achieve Now she's shopping in the dealership, where everything is free Now she's shopping in the dealership, the dealership is me.
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Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
Junk Yard Gal
Digging through the pile, always looking for a match Some thing to stop the pain, some kind of fix or patch She knows not what she needs, but searches nonetheless She knows not what's her goal, she does not reassess Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? She often finds a fix, or finds some thing to use No logic when she looks, why search when you can choose The only parts that fit, only work for a while The only parts that fit, are at the bottom of the pile Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? The dealerships still open, her heart it still does bleed When will she stop this search, they'll sell her what she needs Money's not the issue, for everything is free Money's not the issue, I'm sure she would agree Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? Now she starts to panic, the salvaged parts were cheap Knows not what to do so she falls over to weep She realizes now, the junk yard parts all break She realizes now, she's made a huge mistake Why’s she searching in a junk-yard, when no dealerships are closed? Why’s she searching for the parts with which others have disposed? Thinking clearly now, she knows where she must go The pains already stopped, her face is all aglow She knows what she must do, the junk yard she must leave She knows what she must do, and what she can achieve Now she's shopping in the dealership, where everything is free Now she's shopping in the dealership, the dealership is me.
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30
There is ugly in every beautiful town. There are stone quarries, electrical wires, and spittles of trash on every forsaken corner of the United States. There is a cloud machine amidst fields of green and wind mills with long milling legs that spread like the slashing ceiling fan in my hometown living room. There are brown patches of grass and seasoned bearded hobos, too. There are minimum wage jobs, and minimum wage folks waging the war against crisp, shuttered homes .02 miles down the way. Billboards, more billboards crowd the view. Dealerships, car dealerships speckle urban seas. Me, I do live for variety.
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May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
3-day drive
When I was young I had a body made of rubber And elastic bands That mother tightened So I would sit up straight But she grew slack with age. When I was young I was pliant I had too many ballons in my ears So mother pulled them, but I disappeared- Tucking my head into my collar And my hands into my armpits To escape. I was reminded of this yesterday, Driving by one of those street advertisements Car dealerships, Verizon wireless Where they communicate to get your attention Balloons growing To the dance of wind inside an empty sleeve.
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Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 3:12 AM UTC
Young
Sparse grass adorns the hillside Thinly green against the grey, Where lurking bull ant wolf packs Hunt where chirping crickets play. Way too thin to waft in breezes Way too thin to really count Like bad dealerships in Chevrolet Mostly struggle to surmount. Like thin pacifists in fist fights Race, back peddaling for the door, When, in fact, the convenience Is a bullet through the floor. And hot starlets jiggle **** jobs Strutting carpet, red as rose, Imitating, superficially here, Whoredom wishing to impose. Those roaring Russians, in denial As their cheating athlete’s pale, All denied their right of entry To Olympia’s Holy Grail. And insipidly they all collapse In fracking’s blatant wake, Leaving gloating, fat Americans Gorging merrily on steak. Whilst the oceans are advancing As the ice floes dissipate, And the clamour is ignored Though Island nations inundate. Fractious currencies do vacillate In global bouts of greed, Where the rich are fatly richer And the rest in desperate need. Where all truth is but a fantasy Which everyone ignores, Where expediency is the answer And future proofing snores. Black distrusts the whiteness Islam hates the Jew, East and West at loggerheads What hope now…. for you? Oh sparse grass adorns the hillside Thin green against the grey, Where the morrow is a vaugary And worrisome it’s way. M. Friday 13th November 2015
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Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
Sparse Grass
A great pitch for car dealerships, but not so much for a casino.
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Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 1:00 PM UTC
"No one beats our deals!"
with immediate effect it is no longer needed to pass a theory on line test before you take car lessons. it is putting teenagers off learning to drive. when i learnt to drive the test was not needed. it is better they learn as teenagers when aptitude is highest. i would like dvd made by government for people starting to drive 3 hours long with best practice advice. in reality only 7000 a year are passing test youngsters do need to drive to keep dealerships and car manufacturers busy.
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Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 6:29 AM UTC
change of law england