"drooled" poems
she loved thunder storms most of all
the crackle of white hot bolts ripping through the sky
the sheer immensity of power
she always thought it was him
her beloved God
big boy
Thor
with his flowing blond hair
blue aquatic eyes
washboard stomach
and delicately curved *****
finally a man good enough for her
even if he was fly by night
when the heavens thickened gray
like soggy cotton
she could feel atmospheres shift
it made her ******* pert
her mouth would salivate
like a lurid peach
her ***** swelled and dampened
tears of adoration and enchantment
filled her eyes
no longer able to contain her self
she would strip naked
fling off her *******
and run out to the lush verdant meadows
calling at the top of her lungs
yoooooooooo hooooooooooo
as the cool rain descended
she ran thrilled to the mud between her toes
seeing great claws of white lightening echo
through the sky
without hesitation
she fell to the cool earth beneath her
wallowing in the delicious sloshing ooze
positioning her self on all fours
head thrown back
*** up high
calling to the heavens
come on, come on big boy
ive been waiting for you
let me have it good
her clitoral lips
drooled with anticipation
her ******
a pulsating aching
the sky rumbled
with stretching streaks of fire
like a great freight train
spanning infinity
while the earth shook like a
hollow moon
she swayed her hips
rhythmically to and fro
whispering a love song
*oh sir
i need a man like you
wont you love me
adorations true
i kneel before
my sweet Lord Thor
where's that hammer
come on and score
you are so big
and im so little
how about it God
just a tickle
hit it now
give it to me good
kisses baby
like only you could*
tears of desire cascaded
down her pink cheeks
as she recited her love mantra
her mouth naked wet
suddenly
a great bolt of lightening
shot down from heavens throne
entering her ******
splitting her in flames
her head turned dark mahogany
sent careening fifty yards
leaving her mouth
a yawning twisted smudge
of fossilized obsidian
with eyes
blackened flaring hollows
her tender pink ****
a charred flower
smoldering
like a
petite
grilled
calamari
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:45 AM UTC
He tried to spit out the truth;
Dry-mouthed at first,
He drooled and slobbered in the end;
Truth dribbling his chin.
11.4k
"Tell me gorgeous,"
He said with his finger under her soft chin
"What are you looking at?"
She looked at his face.
He could tell she wasn't seeing his face.
She knew she wasn't.
"Well,"
She started to say to stall him.
She knew what she was seeing.
She wasn't sure if she should tell him.
"Well,"
She said again.
"Yes gorgeous?"
He said patiently.
She thought about what she wanted to say.
*i don't see you. I don't see you. I don't see your black hair. But his light brown ***** blonde hair. I don't see you. I don't see your brown eyes I once drooled over. I see his eyes. The maybe blue eyes that stole my heart. I don't see your tan complexion but his reddened one. i see him. I don't see you and I never will again.*
"Well,"
She said again.
He moved his hand to the back of her neck.
He stepped closer.
He stared into her eyes.
"Gorgeous tell me. Tell me please."
She closed her eyes.
And suddenly she felt his lips against hers.
She opened her eyes surprised.
She remembered the way his lips felt.
But she didn't want to remember.
She pulled away.
He looked hurt.
And suddenly
Real fast
Everything
Poured
Out
Of
Her
Normally
Silent
Mouth
"I don't see you when I look at you anymore. You know I don't. You can tell. You know you've hurt me a thousand times. You know you've pushed me down. You know you've left a scar so deep It will Never fade.
So why are you here? Calling me gorgeous? When you know you have no right to."
He looked even more hurt.
And suddenly very angry.
She knew he felt guilty.
She knew she was right.
He let go of her neck and raised a hand behind his head.
She looked at him her eyes widening and before she got the chance to run, his hand slapped hard against her cheek.
Slashing it open.
She lay on the warm grass.
Holding her face.
She looked up at him.
And now his emotion was scared.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Tears fell softly onto the grass.
Soon she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She jumped ready to run.
"Shh it's just me,"
She saw the boy with the light brown ***** blonde hair. And the maybe blue eyes. And the reddish complexion.
She relaxed as he pulled her into his arms.
She smelt his sweet scent.
And let him dab the blood away.
"I'll always love you. You never have to worry. I'll always be here. You don't have to doubt it. I'll always protect you. You should always remember that"
She smiled and closed her eyes.
She heard the boy with the black hair stomp across the grass.
She heard a car door slam.
She heard an engine roar.
And then she heard wheels squeal.
And like that,
He was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
And forever,
The boy with the maybe blue eyes,
Was here.
Here.
Here.
Here.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
Here, now, summer is synonymous with loneliness,
Scorching heat with empty houses and empty driveways.
In a few hours, your room with a future lost
Out of my own free will,
And the beach we used to frequent will be synonymous with the ghosts of hope and a lover scorned.
I called my uncle today and I almost cried.
His voice is synonymous with love unconditional and pure,
As he half-jokingly admits that he loves me more than my siblings
Because
When I was young and sat on his shoulders and drooled on his hair,
I was synonymous with daughter years before he had his own.
As I text my friends, snort at their jokes and cringe at their mistakes,
I wonder
What am I synonymous with?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
going to the horror films
at ten years old
i wanted to be bitten by the vampire ladies
you know the ones
red brides from the netherworlds
with heaving *******
divinities of evil
with that dah look
in silky white gowns
a little messy from sleeping in the dirt
culture vulture goth girls
with upside down crosses
slags all gauzy bats in the belfry
deranged
but after all they where
dead
and dreadfully appealing
and I'm pretty fussy
so what the hell
they walked like floats
in marshy air
never touching the ground
above frozen dark crypt terrains
with twinkly bare feet
and black high glossed toenails
staring out of blood spilled eyes
drooling cloudy mouth hollows
and a yearning hungry countenance
encouraging me
to get closer
to bite me all over
pierce me
with needly fangs
puncturing little holes in tender me
making me leak like bad plumbing
until i sloped into the bog below
of course, i was panicked
all trembly
but i had a big one
for these evil shadowy ******* too
so i thought
yes
no
yes
no
yes
no
are you gonna **** me?
i asked
they drooled
ooow okay, i thought is it gonna hurt?
they shook there heads yes!
and drooled
real bad?
i inquired further
ah ha
they lingered glaring
drooling
i guess, waiting for me to make up my mind
oh okay anything for you
you dark dreamy girls
dilapidated queens of hell
with ballet derrières
"down and down I go
round and round I go
in a spin, lovin' the spin I'm in
under the old black magic called love"
after all at ten years old,
i already knew i was
a horror *****
and just a little turned on
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
And as he leaves me with his words of wisdom
His blessing
I am expelling every sound he utters away from myself
I flinch from his touch
A pat on the back is like acid on my skin
In his presence I am forced to tape myself up
Whether it is to keep myself from exploding or from falling apart I still don't know
But there are times when my pieces begin to shake and quiver so violently that I start to leak and a storm rages in my head while the rain escapes through my eyes
It is in that moment that I scream at him to leave, without making a sound
And it scares me that he knows what I look like naked
because he has stared at women with my same body on the internet and has drooled over the same curves and lumps that I have
And it scares me how he can sound so sane. So sane that he convinces himself that he is stable
And it scares me that no one but me and my mother will ever truly understand how distorted his thought process is
All this fear and anger sit, rotting inside my stomach and at the center of the mass of hate, there is a spot of sadness for the good dad that left when I began to understand the things a young child should not be able to understand
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:37 PM UTC
That night your great guns, unawares,
Shook all our coffins as we lay,
And broke the chancel window-squares,
We thought it was the Judgement-day
And sat upright. While drearisome
Arose the howl of wakened hounds:
The mouse let fall the altar-crumb,
The worm drew back into the mounds,
The glebe cow drooled. Till God cried, “No;
It’s gunnery practice out at sea
Just as before you went below;
The world is as it used to be:
“All nations striving strong to make
Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters
They do no more for Christés sake
Than you who are helpless in such matters.
“That this is not the judgment-hour
For some of them’s a blessed thing,
For if it were they’d have to scour
Hell’s floor for so much threatening. . . .
“Ha, ha. It will be warmer when
I blow the trumpet (if indeed
I ever do; for you are men,
And rest eternal sorely need).”
So down we lay again. “I wonder,
Will the world ever saner be,”
Said one, “than when He sent us under
In our indifferent century!”
And many a skeleton shook his head.
“Instead of preaching forty year,”
My neighbour Parson Thirdly said,
“I wish I had stuck to pipes and beer.”
Again the guns disturbed the hour,
Roaring their readiness to avenge,
As far inland as Stourton Tower,
And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge.
2.5k
Them bastardized youths fell outside, dizzied by a reality unsolved.
Their maws scowled judgment and drooled Pabst down improbable bodies each of them lay in the stink of subtle conformity.
Fiercely unique culture beasts starved away in suburbs; Wikidrifting, those drugged litterbugs scampered.
Dropout fish fast against the current of their time, tired from dancing through desperate crowded nights and disparate lonely dawns, dangling degrees and the specters of success burning incessant their pride.
They were the ******** made so over time contracted by blind parents to nine-to-blithes in which quiet desperation, credit nooses, and irony were the small print.
They were carpenters afraid of their hands. With chisel to headstone, they lied on the hoods of used Japanese cars, panning the radio for a real connection and gazing up at vanishing constellations.
They were their poison and they their elixir, but a cold cigarette was a much quicker fixer of Helplessness Blues and the back of a Bible where a brief intellectual wrote “I am suicidal.”
For how does the turn of the epigram read to those who care less with every new beat of a drummed-up society so high off its piety that seeing stars vanish is simply a shame?
Those ******** dropouts tragically remiss, those Supertramps, Kerouacs, Cohens, and wits.
They were the alternative, urbanite fools that littered alleys with Greek fables and Tibetan tattoos.
Criterion flash cards and the literary canon allowed them to flirt with god in verse and art clues until Pollock’s canvas did rip off their eyelids which left them to know only Socrates knew.
They danced and they writhed, then ****** to pass time, and kept on their passions till lost were their minds. Then they all died, those blasphemous ********
But at least they washed on the back of their crimes.
At least they danced.
At least they were.
And there may be something to movement in chaos.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:06 PM UTC
So tired
Back to work and then there's this social event and that social event
and the last one is the best one and I'm still trying to get over not having
last years job that was taken from me and given to you and still
trying not to even think about this because this is a whole new year and
Driving past Napa Valley's Wineries
Hotels, Buses, wine
Everything wine and I don't know where I'm going
My GPS broke, and the directions are drive straight and you'll see it
Suburbia has turned into true wealth
I've gone back in time, wine Haciendas on hill tops
like feudal mansions, waiting for the peasants to do the actual
work of wine, the dirt and the sweat of wine as the owners
twiddle their thumbs and worry about the stock market and their wine
I arrive at my Castle. For a few moments I will be allowed to taste
the lifestyle of the wine and pretend that I too belong in this castle
watching grapes ripen and waiting for the teaming hordes to do my work
and the mechanical wine processors sit idly waiting for the grapes and I feel a tinge of
sadness and fear for the grapes to be processed like in a slaughter house
until I realize they are only fruit, and not mammals
And on the hot deck overlooking the beautiful, silent valley with grapes ripening before
our eyes the only chair left is next to you
I sit down and look to my right and I see the woman who I feared would take my job and now did
and I wonder how it is that this has happened that I've driven for miles in the hot sun
through miles of grapevines only to be made to sit next to you who jealously drooled over
my job and could never say anything good about my work and then you won.
And we talk and I'm very clever and you don't like that because I'm supposed to be stupid
and it's supposed to be obvious why you got the job not me and not some seniority thing
and you say nothing nice, and it's only me keeping up a charade of conversation that
could turn ugly at the drop of a pin but doesn't due to my skill
and you then leave made uncomfortable by the evidence of my continued existence
and lack of dumbness
And it's only later that I realize in my imagination I wanted to hurl you from the deck
and into the wine press
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
There was a snail (named Dale)
with a very long tail
who ventured off into the world.
He said to himself
(Dale the snail)
I'd love to meet a bootiful goil.
So in a flash from space,
with mucus running down her face,
came an alien creature called Joan,
She saw a silver line
(it was a snail trail)
and followed it to see where it goes.
And far in ...the distance
she saw in an instance
at the end of the snail trail sparkling in the sun-
A slimy and sweet
creature she'd love to meet
with a shell on his back for a home.
She said:"I do declare,
you look dashing and fair"
as bubbles oozed from her eyes.
Dale just blushed,
as his face lit up,
and said: "aw you're just saying that you sassy young blob of an alien gawjus sweet thing with no hair :)"
She looked at this tiny dream of a slobber,
he was in awe at her globber.
But their hearts sank at their difference in size.
She was glandular large
like a bright yellow barge
and he was as small as a splarge.
A stick insect saw -
the tragedy of it all
and came up with a very cunning plan.
He knew a wizard once
who ate snails for lunch,
they could trick him to changing her small...
As he told them the tale,
their faces went pale
but their love was too strong for the fear.
So they slithered and shlozzered
to Joan's flying saucer
to find the castle of Wizzy the ****
The wizard was waiting
with his eyes full of hating
and a knife and a fork in each hand.
There was garlic and salt
that he took from his vault
and he drooled on his beard as he sang:
"Alien Shpeegle
with shnails in shmeegle,
a delightful shurprishe for a man!
Groggy my groach
with shome shlime on my toasht"
and he pranced and danced with his band.
The spacecraft landed,
unexpectant of ambush,
the couple wanderd on in.
Wizzy swung from a rafter
and trapped Dale in a corner,
and said: "My you'll go well with my Shtew!"
Joan got mad
and rolled on to her lad
and ****** the wizard into her goo.
She suddenly felt all tingly
as she turned into a twinky,
there was nothing more she could do.
The Wizard escaped
and poor Dale met his fate,
and was smeared on the twinky sliced in two.
Wizzy gobbled them up
with some glee in his cup,
and then succumbed to food poisoning goo.
So it seemed that it ended
on that dark cold September,
for the lovers who's loving was doomed...
But on a planet far away
at the early break of day
two souls bubbled in primordial stew.
An amoeba named Dale
and an amoeba named Joan
were floating in bubbles of gas,
So deep the attraction
-the magnetized action,
they could now be together at last.
Dec 11, 2010
Dec 11, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
Inside this plastic orifice pulsates the vibrations of flies
Around the frontal lobe of the brain,
A honking trumpet of confusion and
Fake self-confidence,
With that fake eyebrow raise of condescending question.
A drunk woman’s loop just spilling insecurities.
I remember when I was 18 years old
and so much more sure of myself
than I am now.
Now, my questioning analysis turns to stammering cindersm
My voice to quivering gibberish,
My spine to a trembling cane.
This is the age we were worried about,
Shaking coats off to try on new ones.
To be fearless again, a shit-talking hardass
With no reason to five a **** no reason
To be ashamed of words I spit, the norms
I shatter, the growing genuine demeanor
I cherish.
My words leak off the page and down
The spinal column of answers,
Stacked and jacked for another gear change.
Green lime crime in a gray lipsticked
Lip-lock torn asunder in cheap talk.
I’ll stop apologizing for nature’s wrongs.
I’ll forsake the jumbled up mumbled mess
That drooled down the spider fingers of
Those lonely, lost days.
And for a coin, I’ll stake my life
On the candle that refused to burn
Because now the reason crests the waves of
Pedantic experience.
Made past the overly-viewed statistics.
The curves now drip away the
Remnants of fabricated wool
Into a bed of once exhausted syllables
And frequented sobs.
Without a known ending, I’ll know this much:
The insecurities are a bottomless chalice
Full of the Catholic’s guilt
And the people you see around you
Are warriors bred without Fathers.
Streamlined sick in a wonderbread coffeehouse,
These are the hours worth reckoning.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
Then it chirped
for a long time
It spread its wings
and flew away
The squirrel grabbed
and looked at it
Stared for a while
With a deep breath
She took a bite
It seemed delicious
The sweetness drooled
from either sides
and touched the ground
She had no regret
That was so tasty
The bird had a bad day
I swear, by the look
at the squirrel's tiny face
This picture of the wild
enjoying a fruit
Amid the summer heat
I'll never forget
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
We sat stupefied with the expats,
eyes wide open telling lies
between repeats of
La Bamba & Lady Grinning Soul.
Peter Gunn screamed sax
through the hypnotic-haze,
the place was a ******* rat hole.
Sticky seats smelt like
**** burnt toast & dead feet.
A one-ton greasy bartender
sat on a low stool,
drooled on his cigar
rather than smoking it.
He counted his dough
about every six minutes.
Shadows of waifish tired-women
floated by us like wispy-clouds.
With tricks hand-in-hand,
they moved in and out of
the proverbial back rooms,
an odor of primordial-slime hung.
This was what they called
the tropical-island high-life,
a swanky place where ten bucks
could get you an hour of whore-thrills.
It was actually a cheap-ass brothel
disguised as a night club,
tucked away somewhere
in the middle of nowhere,
the skankiest
of Never Never Lands.
It was by far,
the saddest place
I've ever visited on Earth.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Remember that day we glided along rice fields,
me and you lagging at the back,
while the 12 of us pedaled bicycles?
The clouds drooled down daylight,
and I was feeling lonely and crap.
You glanced back on the road and waited. "You alright?"
your eyes said.
And we chatted about our problems, time chopping away on an x-asis,
as we passed fields, motorbikes, and watersheds.
Those shared moments every day
with you, our friends, and our Vietnamese teaching staff,
it aligned my universe like a human astrolabe.
I'm so glad our group traveled across the world,
riding bikes and drinking beer unbounded by maps.
It ***** being home now, far away. I miss you and I'm always bored.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
" i always wondered if fish drooled ? " she said... and left it there like a cartoon tumbleweed, caked in glitter and sprite phlegm. she stood across an ocean on an island of outlandish abandonment, where all the mirrors crack. her passing quakes the stain off her daily betrothal
to a toothless bigot in the land of freedom's end in the hovel of her heart's fall from appointed grace. a place of a thousand cuts and no car. waaaay out in the country of her diminished affections, her eyes could be seen wandering the burnt out villa of her lost love, where she recalls the fairy rings piercing her lips and the trembling of her youth, finding a slow hand to explore the wet *** without peril, soaring with her palm, plastered to a feathered bed in a guest room, in a time-share.
grampa sleep. and bird's nest pitch black.
" i always wondered if fish drooled ? " she said... she slept through it... on to the next disconnect to get intimate with. she left me there, like a chocolate mint resting on a pillow made of shards of habitual flagellation by candle light and instinct; resting on a bed of nails rusting
in the flood plain of her fondest wish.
she left me there
to conspire with her better demons, to witness - the benign desperation of her frenzied exploration
of actual actualization... to watch her ****** from the jaws of a dire wolf,
her bleeding heart and her ransom.
with her bare teeth and a naked
Truth.
you should have seen her face.
i tattooed her secrets on the iris of a blind ghost, i swore it " abide in her broken heart like an open door with a cool breeze slinking through the fetid air of her self defeat and stale bread bumble bees.
and to abide by her rules
when she finds them... then to ghostly fall
upon his ghost sword by midnight
with a smile that tells hell it cannot claim what rises.
a smile that spat at the devil and pitied his children.
a ghost smile that stole a book from a museum
and never told his other
books why.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
Aubrey took in the dame
in the red dress, her hams
moving under the tight cloth,
her ringed fingers showing
as she moved her hands, the
pointed dugs like small noses
pressed against the redness.
He took in her hair, noticed
the colour, the waves, the
highlights. He sipped coffee.
Cappuccino, white froth on
his upper lip, wiped off with
the back of his hand. She
stood window shopping;
stood moving her legs, her
hams in **** motion still.
He leaned back. He eased
against the chair. She had
stooped forward. Her eyes
price gauging, hands behind
her back, holding a hand
bag, rings showing. He
settled on her neckline.
A necklace, silver, a cross
without a Christ. She turned
and gazed up the shopping
mall. She sighed. He watched.
Sipped coffee. The waitress
who brought it walked with
a wiggle. Tiny backside, tight,
she thin as if some Modigliani
dame. She walked by holding
an empty tray. Wiggled, head
level. The dame in the red dress
turned and faced him. Their
eyes met; green on brown;
hers on his. She looked away
taking nothing of him. He
drank in her eyes and mouth;
lingered in his darkroom mind.
He sipped again. She folded
her arms, handbag hanging,
eyeing her small gold watch.
Aubrey took in her legs,
the hairlessness, the silk
smooth suntanned legs.
Younger he may have
drooled; now he just
gazed and gazed. She
looked up the long mall.
He sat up and downed
his coffee. Her Romeo,
if such, arrived. They
embraced; he swung
her around. Excitement,
bright eyes, smiles.
They walked off. Aubrey
watched her go, not
unhappy or ill, he'd had
his sight and had his fill.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
We lived sullen in
awkward decadence.
Hoarding strange
little monuments. and
Odes to us.
Enough to choke on it.
The black soot of
sacrificial trees.
I saw them
burning mid-suicide.
Martyrs with wooden hearts.
at least they used them.
Unlike us
we had accidental brains
and drooled over them.
the cold blooded arrogance
Not really noble yet
we stay
sleeping like the
greed in prodigied monks
Wake me up when the
bees grow heavy
with honey again.
pinch me when we
collectively awake.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 2:47 AM UTC
I make trips to the corner store, at 12 in the morning.
Calling all cars to get the **** out of the road,
I'm swerving.
Calling all lights,
blink and be gone. Streetlights,
stoplights, lamps, lighters,
blunt tips, cigarette butts,
all lights be gone.
Dear Earth, get low in the darkness.
On my first trip,
I was accosted by rabid dogs who drooled shoelaces
and I could tell they were being hounded
by the kilter of their angry maws
and sawed-off minds.
They barked like guns.
And they saw me--completely irrelevant---
popping caps off Lokos
taking sips that could **** up an Orca,
completely swimming.
I had to kick them home.
At work today,
Someone got caught stealing five pesos worth of food,
and got threatened with a felony,
but they've got some lint in their pocket,
and knew how to keep it cool.
My girlfriend operates in ideas.
I've been at work for so long,
that I yell and walk around,
like I'm in the shower.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
So Rudolph made an appearance
Or so you'd think
Judging by the spot upon my forehead
All week in the dusk and nothing to fettle my beauty
Oh no
Till today
Planes tried to land on me
Cars stopped as I walked on by
And my mirror drooled awaiting its feed of white
My head had a new head
Potion lotion fail
And I had turned into a fine shade of a red Umpa Lumpa
Squeeze it
Push it
Pop it good
Santa has a new hood ......
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
a series of negations
notated through angles
cascading, effervescent
in my life and wayward
my creation
an algorithmic error
personalized, recapitulated
almalgams of ones ones and zeros
looking back I see that sometimes
I would stitch together
turning melodies
from the sinews of the noise
I took from their bellies
but mainly, back then
I just drooled red into the clamor
-
a decade later I possess
striking imagery
my very own proverb
on visual omnipotence
but its tacky doesn’t oblige me
no more than the sheets of apathy
I peeled from my skin
I found a purpose that flows through my ears
and with it, happily I am
taken away
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 1:53 AM UTC
Do we remember John?
He was what we'd call a Simpleton,
Back when we were young.
He stood in his brown cloth coat,
Carried a notepad and a pen,
We suspected he had half a tongue,
Making notes on roadside lawns,
Near every manhole.
John was busy inside his head,
We never got a word he said.
Who was John before John was dead?
Did you know Stanley?
We didn't see him much.
He'd appear in the hood on holidays.
Probably went to New Hope School,
Where he was kept.
Stanley swore a lot,
He threw snot, drooled and spit at us.
We poked fun, and provoked,
Felt blameless,
For Stanley's condition was kept from us.
Segregated,
And not because of colour.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
Uncle Sam sat down across from me and placed his satchel on the floor.
It was time to pay the piper; that is God’s immutable law.
I tapped my bony finger, impatient to begin.
“That will be fifty eight thousand, Sam, starting with Tonkin.”
From his satchel, that seemed bottomless, Sam produced the cash.
“Start counting!” I demanded, as I drooled over his stash.
He started pilling Franklins up on the table there between us.
Each “C” note meant one hundred dead Due to McNamara’s genius.
Fathers and sons had fallen; young men by the score.
Just think of the girls they never kissed; the children they never saw.
Uncle Sam doled out the bills until his thumbs were sore
When he finished I took out my Scythe and swept them on the floor.
I saw Sam’s look of horror at my eyeless, nose less face.
He had counted out a treasure that he knew he can't replace.
“It was a Pleasure doing business.” Oh, how I despised that man!
Still I was certain that we’d meet often,even after Vietnam.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 8:02 AM UTC
Here I am;
the asphalt covering what is left of my withered self expression.
Here I am;
with nothing but a package of what small personality I did salvage.
Here I am;
awaiting the exile to the inner circle.
Here I am;
wishfully knowing what is next to come.
Here I will be;
a foreigner to self controlled emotions.
Here I will be;
sent into the burning throat that we call trend.
Here I will be;
a roller-coaster supervisor, but never a rider.
Here I will be;
shamelessly placid.
There I was;
entrenched in my own beliefs.
There I was;
guiltily independent.
There I was;
unique to the tiniest hair on my body.
There I was;
never questioning who I was.
then came the fire
the sweet flames clawed
ripped to shreds
they traveled deep with in the vault I called my spirit
they licked at each crumbling memory of me that would set me apart
their tongues ablaze and thirsting angrily for each asset that made me different
they drooled lullabies
they sweated sanctuary
they left
as if it was nothing but a dream
the fire was gone.
Now
Here I Am.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
once upon one time I had finery
I had Pac Man and a Ps2
I had a computer fast as lightning
that downloaded all the latest games
played them without a pause
and a silk robe to lounge around in
a virtual girlfriend, an I phone that
all my friends drooled over ,
Fifty Gigs of internet Wifi connectivity
and no need for a job, then my wifi
and phone and Rent-a-Center sent me bills,
and even Fingerhut cut me off. Now I am working at Mc D's.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC