"eyeball" poems
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball,
This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear.
Here's yesterday, last year ---
Palm-spear and lily distinct as flora in the vast
Windless threadwork of a tapestry.
Flick the glass with your fingernail:
It will ping like a Chinese chime in the slightest air stir
Though nobody in there looks up or bothers to answer.
The inhabitants are light as cork,
Every one of them permanently busy.
At their feet, the sea waves bow in single file.
Never trespassing in bad temper:
Stalling in midair,
Short-reined, pawing like paradeground horses.
Overhead, the clouds sit tasseled and fancy
As Victorian cushions. This family
Of valentine faces might please a collector:
They ring true, like good china.
Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.
The light falls without letup, blindingly.
A woman is dragging her shadow in a circle
About a bald hospital saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
And appears to have suffered a sort of private blitzkrieg.
She lives quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
The obsolete house, the sea, flattened to a picture
She has one too many dimensions to enter.
Grief and anger, exorcised,
Leave her alone now.
The future is a grey seagull
Tattling in its cat-voice of departure.
Age and terror, like nurses, attend her,
And a drowned man, complaining of the great cold,
Crawls up out of the sea.
41.9k
Habibati...
Let me write you as a passion page...
and draw you as a charmed spring for my heart...
and sail into your seas...
with no salvation...
to get drown into your sea...
that never get out from you...
let me stare into your eyeball...
to live within these charming eyes...
to see a world all through yours...
sweet darling...
let me feel deeply into your hot breathes...
to warm my heart within your warm breathe...
to endow a live to a heart lives inside you...
do you want to know, more...
where my dreams taking me now? ? ? ...
still dreaming about our meeting...
our meeting there, on that beach...
which we always talked about...
there i am now...
into that dream...
Oh sweet angel mine...
my day starts always, when you are with me...
when you draw the world to me as a soft kiss...
while we lay on a bed of roses...
and enjoying our sweet talks...
our sweet love...
and enjoying one the other...
till we lose the time...
and melt at each others...
to seems a one body...
not more than body...
bodies that asks for it desires...
asks with no shame for its rights...
to reach their madness...
craziness madly love...
lovers will be lose into each other...
and never to know their day from its night...
to start the night, and another night with no realize...
then to pass a time as it was a seconds...
sweetheart...
so hurry come...
its a time now, our time...
come to make our dream comes true...
while not all dreams becomes true...
but our love is true...
and our dream is so true too...
come sweetheart...
lets show others, how love should be...
come to give all people this feelings...
and this love through our love...
By hazem al jaber ...
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 2:02 AM UTC
we play with a retired professional but
none of the other kids mind—
his alcoholism has gotten the better of his muscle
memory and god doesn’t he look bad
the ball is an old piece of garbage made from
a kind of industry plastic
half-flayed alive by loving kicks
that expose the moldy gray rubber inner-
sphere like some soft eyeball
and, behind one of the goals, the
boy who plays goalkeeper only on Wednesdays
lounges like a pimply Greek sculpture—
unable to move as an epileptic fit lazily
puppeteers his body while the players pass the ball into his gut
and I step aside, too—
my stomach aches so badly for the crispy joy
of cold cereal I can’t play—
some days are like that—shed of their seriousness
because it’s more fun to play without a defense
even though we’re always losing **** it I just scored
a goal!
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
Under silver wing
San Francisco's towers sprouting
thru thin gas clouds,
Tamalpais black-breasted above Pacific azure
Berkeley hills pine-covered below--
Dr Leary in his brown house scribing Independence
Declaration
typewriter at window
silver panorama in natural eyeball--
Sacramento valley rivercourse's Chinese
dragonflames licking green flats north-hazed
State Capitol metallic rubble, dry checkered fields
to Sierras- past Reno, Pyramid Lake's
blue Altar, pure water in Nevada sands'
brown wasteland scratched by tires
Jerry Rubin arrested! Beaten, jailed,
coccyx broken--
Leary out of action--"a public menace...
persons of tender years...immature
judgement...pyschiatric examination..."
i.e. Shut up or Else Loonybin or Slam
Leroi on *** gun rap, $7,000
lawyer fees, years' negotiations--
SPOCK GUILTY headlined temporary, Joan Baez'
paramour husband Dave Harris to Gaol
Dylan silent on politics, & safe--
having a baby, a man--
Cleaver shot at, jail'd, maddened, parole revoked,
Vietnam War flesh-heap grows higher,
blood splashing down the mountains of bodies
on to Cholon's sidewalks--
Blond boys in airplane seats fed technicolor
Murderers advance w/ Death-chords
Earplugs in, steak on plastic
served--Eyes up to the Image--
What do I have to lose if America falls?
my body? my neck? my personality?
June 19, 1968
4.5k
Bloomed upon a star!
The setting sun sliding far
into the twilight pool
captured the picture!
Eye on the bumblebee!
That was first to bask in the sun
thinking that it dove to the length
into the shades of the midday rose.
There it's silhouette gets caught
is half-lit on the bank
of the milky way brook.
Shades of blue put
in the mix an inky shadow.
Oh, what’s in an unseen hue?
The sprawling black night puts
a veil on the day on every eyeball.
Guess what it’s anyone's guess!
Even the leading light of the day
the sun shuffles an acre of the night
blindfolded down the full moon!
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and **** and hand
and ******* holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the *****
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!
Berkeley 1955
4.3k
Traffic came to a halt as signal turned red again,
I heard a small kid knocking at the window pane.
I looked up suddenly and met his eye,
My face turned frowzy - not sure why?
Begging for a 10 rupee note in exchange of a flag,
Scores of other such items he carried in his bag.
Something about the set of his face suggested a despair,
Maybe he wanted to say something but he couldn't dare.
Maybe his leaders had covertly kept an eye on him,
Thus flagging him down from expressing his whim.
He just pretended that everything is fine,
Was it because otherwise, he would've nothing to dine?
I looked into his eyes, which couldn't hide it all,
Gently I started reading through his eyeball.
The desire to be rescued from poverty and pain,
The outlook over his dreams to start all again.
The delicate and subtle hands were badly bruised,
The plight of his innocence had left me confused.
The tears went unseen and the voice unheard,
Aspirations of flying high like a free bird.
Three, two, one and the signal turned green,
He flashed a gentle smile and passed by the scene.
Throughout that day, my mind was confronted with the thought,
His silence was loud, apparently speaking a lot.
(Shayad uski khamoshi bohat kuch keh gayi thi...)
Who will provide them all the necessities?
And help them with their basic amenities!!
Who will find them a decent vocation?
Food, shelter, clothing and education!!
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 11:10 AM UTC
Three-legged spider on a ***** tile
Eyeball rolls, clean in hand
Massive metal door opens, up top a hill
Graveyard of ever-ringing cells.
What's real creepy to you?
Enclose the city, lock us out ..for good
Condemned as doomed, living dead
Big guns survive in metallic domes
See the crass ******** shoot us down!
Wanna talk about what's creepy, huh?
Plunderers now lay down new laws
Can't fight the sick, red sway
Random acts of violence bay
Armoured eyes see all from lofty towers.
Creepy autocrats hide the truth, right?
No soaring when blood runs rivers
Tripping over rotting corpses
Decaying stench of hope dying
Help will come, we must believe!
Do you believe lies to your face?
Infrastructure's down, no services
Power's out, no more flushing
Car carcasses aflame on every corner, yet
How come big brother's eyes still move?
Are the gullible ones really stupid and feeble?
Sun shines, but nothing grows
Rain seeps red away into sewers
Crops of twisted metal, hoards of guns
Skeletal trees adorn our landscape.
Why hold askance your glance skyward?
The gates will open to let us in
Surely, they witness our hardship!
There must exist a life beyond this strife
Uproar, bombard, gas, artillery....then no more....
Can you ever cease to have temerity?
In face of adversity, calamity and injustice
We should NEVER cease to be exasperated!
Hope must prevail; faith must live;
Thoughts expressed; love and respect must survive.
Can you afford your spirit just to let go....?
Think about it. Creepy autocrats eternally rank ...
Chronically..........Insidious
Repressively........Deleterious
Egotistically.........Inadequate
Eruptively............Odious
Pretentiously.......Tedious
Yucky...................Scum!
S T, 31 May 2013
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 10:30 AM UTC
Am I brave enough to tell you?
to tell you how I spend the night thinking about you
to tell you how I dream the night with the thoughts of you
to tell you how I dance around my room with the songs about you
Am I brave enough to tell you?
to tell you why am I up all night with my phone in hands
to tell you why am I blush a little every time you talk to my face
to tell you why am I so proud of things that I haven't had
Am I brave enough to tell you?
to tell you how I love the crinkle of your eyes
to tell you how I realize you have the black spot on your left eyeball
to tell you how I love the cut of **** symbol in the back of your left hand
Am I brave enough to tell you?
to tell you why time ticks so slow when you're not around
to tell you why I shut my mouth every time you're around
to tell you why my heart smiles every time you're near
Am I brave enough to tell you?
to tell you how I wish upon the stars praying your name
to tell you how I feel every time the wind blows your hair
to tell you how I don't want you to stop flicking off your bangs
Am I brave enough to tell you?
to tell you how I want to hold both of your hands
to tell you how I want to lay down my head in the bony of your shoulders
to tell you how I want to tell you words I could not say, I love you
Am I brave enough to tell you that I love you?
Darling, tell me if I brave enough to tell you that I love you
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
The voices inside my head are taking over.
These u-u-uncontrollable quirks I have.
My eyes twitch as many times as a heart beats after doing a triathlon.
In my head of runs a marathon of thoughts that don't belong,
things I can't do because they're wrong.
Within my blood stream flows 1.26 grams of dopamine given to me by doctors who don't know how to fix my situation,
only mix prescriptions to intensify vexation. Pharmacists eyeball me fearingly because I appear to be nothing but someone with chemicals wandering around into the little bit of a brain I have left.
Serotonin to regulate my mood, appetite, and sleep but I still only wish for all of this to be nothing but a dream.
All of this making my intestines mutilate, slowly dying inside as if I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Otherwise known as I.B.S. but I know for a fact that this is all just a bunch of B.S.
My enterochromaffin cells may just burst, I am often told.
If only I could tell what was real from what was fake.
For I also have A.D.H. - whoa! What's that?!
Sorry, where was I?
Oh. Tourettes Syndrome.
I guess I just twitch it off.
Maybe these are all figures of my imagination from the hallucinogens.
Who knows?
After all, I am a schizophrenic.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
i.
Just in case
Just in case mine lass;
If tonight I taketh mine last breath
And mine soul through the city of gold shalt pass.
ii.
Just in case
Just in case mine Reyna;
If tomorrow I do not wakest
And mine body's a deathly patina.
iii.
Just in case
Just in case mine Jane;
I want to thanketh thee, for thine friendship, amare, and care,
And giving me happiness, beyond all mine hopes and dream's.
iv.
Just in case
Just in case mine seraphim;
I go into the deep,
Thus mine mother shalt leaveth thee mine keep's, mine native American necklace, poem's; a lock of mine blonde hair.
v.
Just in case I sleepeth
And passeth on eternally;
I shalt be waiting, I made thee a promise
To meetest thou mine queen.
So If mine eyeball's faileth
And mine spirit chooseth to soar,
Surely mine Earl Jane Nagley
I'll meeteth thee at heaven's door.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Bloomed upon a star!
The setting sun sliding far
into the twilight pool
captured the picture!
Eye on the bumblebee!
That was first to bask in the sun
thinking that it dove to the length
into the shades of the midday rose.
There it's silhouette gets caught
is half-lit on the bank
of the milky way brook.
Shades of blue put
in the mix an inky shadow.
Oh, what’s in an unseen hue?
The sprawling black night puts
a veil on the day on every eyeball.
Guess what it’s anyone's guess!
Even the leading light of the day
the sun shuffles an acre of the night
blindfolded down the full moon!
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
Here,
in the room of my life
the objects keep changing.
Ashtrays to cry into,
the suffering brother of the wood walls,
the forty-eight keys of the typewriter
each an eyeball that is never shut,
the books, each a contestant in a beauty contest,
the black chair, a dog coffin made of Naugahyde,
the sockets on the wall
waiting like a cave of bees,
the gold rug
a conversation of heels and toes,
the fireplace
a knife waiting for someone to pick it up,
the sofa, exhausted with the exertion of a *****
the phone
two flowers taking root in its crotch,
the doors
opening and closing like sea clams,
the lights
poking at me,
lighting up both the soil and the laugh.
The windows,
the starving windows
that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
Each day I feed the world out there
although birds explode
right and left.
I feed the world in here too,
offering the desk puppy biscuits.
However, nothing is just what it seems to be.
My objects dream and wear new costumes,
compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands
and the sea that bangs in my throat.
2.5k
*eyeball too big
or
dream too big?*
That **** alice-door is too tiny
Just enough to peep through
One mere eyeball
And espy the jolly life of dreams
Yet barely enough for a hand to reach through
let alone fingertips to taste …
Cruelty is…midday heart-brake too big
Reality makes sure to stick it in deep
Its harsh voice stoking…stoking
Gleeful gives the dreamer an artful kick
*maybe moment has dawned
to reduce that ambitious dream-reel
perhaps too big…on the teasing life-wheel
oh, drat! no biggie…
may well just trash every heart’s desire
let go of hope and let drown*
*no…forget it, Fate
I shan’t, no.
come…..
come onnnnnnnnnnnn, then….!
hey, come and drag me by my ****** heels
with my face in the gutter!*
(I am WAITING...)
S T, 15 August 2013
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 6:33 AM UTC
*Strip into segments the colours of life
At the birth of my sons, loving my wife,
Like the moment of truth when, whilst shivering clear,
I went eyeball to eyeball with that, which I fear.
Like the time when the engine went dead in the plane
And I ditched in the pines to confirm the insane.
When my Father collapsed and died in my arms
And childhood departed with God and his Psalms.
When I first kissed a girl’s soft velvety lips
And felt, with wild rapture, my hands on her hips.
Discovered ripe apricots fresh from the tree
Taste sweeter than nectar collected by bee.
Felt the presence of death compellingly near
Though the body was wracked, the thinking was fear.
Climbed impossible peaks that I dreamt I perceived
To weep the hot tears in a life’s goal achieved.
Laughed loud and long with the wind in my hair
Yet cried when an enemy lost to despair.
Pondered the mystery of what’s round the bend
Concluded beginnings are part of the end.
Compiling the rules to maintain my space
Lie in keeping the oddballs out of my face.
Clasping friends, so few, to my breast
Embracing the true and to hell with the rest.
Committing my time to my one darling wife
And thanking the Gods for this colourful life!*
Marshalg
Sitting in the long summer grasses
3 Decemeber 2012
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 9:34 PM UTC
The skies are blue and the clouds look fluffy.
The air is crisp and the water is chilling.
The mountains appear to touch the sky
and the leaves are rich shades of green, red, and orange.
I walked along out of service train tracks that cut through this mountain. Literally, through it.
The tunnels started on the West Shore of Donner Lake and followed the ridge of the mountain all the way to Truckee. I hiked a half a mile from the highway up to an opening in the tunnel. For a few hundred yards the tunnel was riddled with broken bottles and worthless graffiti. As I walked further in, the garbage began to disappear and the graffiti became thoughtful, artful. It became darker and darker until I could only see the circle illuminated by my pin flashlight. On one spot of the wall someone had written the entire first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone. Someone had drawn a white line. Just a white line and I was so intrigued by it. People wrote stories of the lives. "Im kevin, my gf broke up w me now im gay" or "Im pat. i got dmt and then i got aids" and "im kaylene. thats it."
Someone sprayed a **** pipe on the wall of the tunnel and it was green. They paid very good attention to the crystals in the bowl and the smoke rising from it. A young girl with black hair had her lips on the pipe and she was breathing in. Written under it was "Remember, remember, the 5th of November."
Some one else had sprayed a cowboy. One half of him was black outlined with white and gray detail and the other half was white outlined with gray and black detail. Next to it was written "Childe Roland to the dark tower come."
Some one else had sprayed a devil. He was red with pure black eyes. It was signed "Self Portrait."
Halfway through there was a drain and creepily enough a faint light was shining from underneath the thick grates. Above it some one wrote "I stashed my **** here for three years."
Under that someone had wrote "Gateway to hell."
The rocks jutted out in straight lines.
Some were smooth and others rough.
The mountains cleansed me.
They wiped away some of the grime
this small city has polluted me with.
The crisp air exfolliated some of the
smoke from my lungs and the water
pulled the dirt from my skin
and the hike massaged my sore
feet and the graffiti swept through
one eyeball and took all the garbage
in my brain out through the other
eyeball. The mountains saved me.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
Antiquity was waiting to breathe
And awaiting the moisture of lungs.
A hole, eyeball wide, offered just a peek;
Along with an ancient mote,
Which flew from eternity into sight.
Remarkable things were seen!
In the heat the buzz was slight.
As was the bite. But, ultimately,
The fevers started burning in the night
(For after all, the cobra had eaten the yellow canary).
How your coverings and remains sparkled like the sun!
Thousands of years of hiding suddenly undone.
But, we all rot together, eventually eaten.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
It's long drive on this highway
The window creaks its jagged way down
I breathe in the new air
for the first time in months
George Watsky is building
his Cardboard Castles in my stereo
On repeat-
I think of Emerson
On repeat-
Skip-
On repeat-
I think -
I feel like his transparent eyeball
Repeat-
His eyeball-
I begin to understand
what has always seemed
a clumsy metaphor
I begin to feel -
one with everything
Skip-
everyone is love
Repeat
Love
Every-Everyone is me
And you
Skip-
Everyone is all I need.
Repeat
I am all I need
And you -
I don't need anything
Except for -
-more road
-more time
-more gas
the CD starts skip-skip words
Hopping - lines
Reminding me
Of finite fuel
Repeat-
finite time
with work looming just hours away
Repeat-
death, just decades away
Then, as if responding to my overturned thoughts
My ****** speakers belt out:
Hey ******* -
The sun is shining
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
I don’t know what to buy nothing seems to
be enough for me
I think about all it took to get to that shelf in
the supermarket; all it took for them to place
that can of soda on a shelf
And then I thought to myself that the same
applies with everyone and everything
How is the twinkle in your left eyeball (the
one I’d stare at as you’d fall asleep to the
sound of my stories, the ones you didn’t
like) any different from the can of sardines at
your local supermarket
I propose that we are all products in an
increasingly capitalistic market
No one wants you in the end
You end up in someone’s cart for twenty
minutes
You take a ride; whilst suffocating in a
plastic bag
You are used and eaten and beaten
You are merely an item
And then you’re over
And then you are to be thrown away
Brought to a landfill
Buried
And finally you are to be forgotten
And the worst part is, that you thought that
you were special
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 7:31 AM UTC
Holidays--everyone should reconnect
even with people you see everyday but
never speak to because you can tell
you won't like them...
show them some sunshine and brighten their day
overheard while showering in the women's locker room:
"How's the baby?" "He's four and a half."
Whoops
"Hows Max?"
"He's in Rehab, he's not coaching"
"Ah,oh, ah"
Clothed, she rushes for the door
Continuation with another as I toweled off
"The pool at Concord is cold" "is not" "is" "is not" "well, the air there is cold"
(it's' only five minutes away from here)
Let's try this again, shall we? "So what do you do? I mean, besides swim?"
"I go to water aerobics in the morning
then I swim, then I pick up my kids and swim again. And we had a party and some doctors came over (she looks around, especially at my less than perfect physique,
she is about to expel a naughty, bad word that should never meet the ears of polite company
her eyes are red and look like they will fall out of their sockets
like those little ****** dogs
My friend the vet said one's eyeball fell out during an operation
So he put it back
she's roughly my age, but she has a natural tan in the middle of winter
and the sun has written it's thin lined signature all over her face creating the look
of a satellite image of an area once filled with rivulets of water,
but now experiencing a severe drought
but she truly is 99% fat free)
and they were...OBESE. Can you believe it?"
L'horror.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 3:20 PM UTC
To the kid in the hallway telling his friend
"Maybe you need a **** whistle."
And to her response, a sarcastic
"Matt, **** jokes aren't funny."
You're **** right they aren't
Tell me, how is anyone forcing themself onto another person funny?
How are the I don't want tos when her "no" couldn't scream loud enough funny?
How are the ****** thighs and bruised hips funny?
How is the waking up in the middle of the night
How are the flashbacks and her wailing funny?
How is the seven year-old who had so much anxiety she'd tear her hair out
Or a sixteen year-old who kept eyeliner and a kitchen knife side by side in her purse funny?
It's about as funny as a slaughterhouse full of pigs taunting the other pigs
And telling them their approaching doomsday is amusing.
I dug my key into the palm of my hand like a knife when I heard this jeer
Clenching and unclenching a fist
Because I knew if I did not
That hand would go right through your faces.
You do not know the impact of your words
You see, for a survivor
Jokes about ****** assault are triggers.
They bring back every memory
Which becomes a stinging tear behind an eyeball
Fighting not to emerge from its home.
When I say something
Classically I am being "too sensitive"
Just as I was "too sensitive"
When he told me to get on top of him
And I said no
So much courage mustered up in a little body
I could have moved mountains that day
I could have been my own goddess
At seven years old
But he did not care
He was bigger than me
And he imposed that will onto my body
Reducing my childlike frame to the size of a fly
Being swatted by the paw of a lion.
I will not be silent
So when you tell a **** joke and I am in earshot
Do not expect me to laugh
Because there is nothing funny about a slaughterhouse.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
He makes up the melody
She writes up the songs
Wailing for the universe
She thinks about the wide world
He complains days are long
Wailing for the universe
She drinks the holy water
As he breaks up the bread
Wailing for the universe
He works out his heart
While she plays with her head
Wailing for the universe
She looks for friends on the bottom of the ocean
He seeks them in an eyeball glass
Wailing for the universe
He can’t anticipate the future
She can’t forget about the past
Wailing for the universe
He waits for the white-out
While she blacks out a lot
Wailing for the universe
She prays for death of time
He thinks ‘she loves me not’
Wailing for the universe
She worries in the next life
That she will be feared
Wailing for the universe
He’s never been estranged from love,
But it’s strange to wipe her tears
Wailing for the universe
Surely, that ruler of airwaves
Has once upon a time
Wailed for the universe
He can pick up the tab
But he can’t commit the crime
Wailing for the universe
So if God decides to test you,
Better hold that faith steady
Wailing for the universe
Till the day that truth will come
And save you if you’re ready
Wailing for the universe
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
I heard through the grapevine
The Gestapo are out tonight
Weaving their tapestry
Of violent sport and time
So I duck into alleys
********* my talisman
Praying for personal glory
A reordering of the cosmos
But all I get is an enigma
Enigma with mystique
I hear the chanteuse sing
It makes the colors bleed through
I heard through the grapevine
The star police are out tonight
Weaving their tapestry
Of karmic sport and time
So I duck into nightclubs
********* an eyeball glass
Praying for personal triumph
A reordering of the past
But all I get is an enigma
Enigma with mystique
I hear the chanteuse sing
It makes the colors bleed through
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
the smell of
burnt toast
and
cigarette smoke
greets me
with an acrid embrace
i
drag my
brain dead carcass
up the long flight
of stairs
fifteen minutes late
for class
open the door
to psych
get kicked in the face
rather inharmoniously
by a large, hairy
eyeball
some blue-toothed
*********
is in my seat
i plop down next to
shareef
instead
turn my desk
into a bed
sleep.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
The date is printed orange
in the bottom right hand corner
of my very favorite picture.
It's from two-thousand and eight
And, as my cramping legs keep ambling
every gavel foot falls faster than
the one that fell before.
I'm wondering
where the Hell the years have gone.
You were all brown eyes and wide white smiles.
I was all youthful bravado.
As your laughter swelled to confidence,
I was sinking straight down to the bottom.
And the water rolled on past us,
Goose Creek
swelled with the Summer run-off...
Tell me where did all this time run off to?
The moon is looming large
in the hazing, ashed-out corner
of my wine-enchanted eyeball
on this too-typical night.
And every hyphen lends some extra space
to staggered breaths as I recall your face.
Now I'm spelling out
my own verdict:
defendant's moving to convict.
I don't know the final cost.
But I got enough memories
to say what future I still have,
well it sure ain't coming free.
I got enough memories now
that I don't know where I will be
when a year is just a yawn and a sigh,
and you're still lodged
deep down inside of me.
You were brown eyes' living confidence,
I was yellow, fading cowardice.
I know you were the better one,
and I've always been scraping the bottom.
And the water stalled beside us,
Red Riv-
-er choked with Winter ice blocks.
Don't know why I was so dumb and frozen.
But thanks
for believing
all those years.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC