"francisco" poems
Porous asphalt,
And bandaged, quilt
Homes puncture the
Neighborhood,
Which reads like a tattered
American flag; all
Coke Ads and weight loss
Billboards,
Half-burnt houses slant,
Like the hills of San Francisco—
Our own makeshift cable
Carts, limping up
And down the inclines.
We are slowly being burned
By our once golden sun—
Having been taught to
Bleach ourselves
Pale, tucked shamefully
In the shade.
Makeshift shanty towns
Which smell of mildew
And processed laundry soap,
Flimsy tin roofs
Tied with Kleenex and
Pizza Hut tarpaulins.
The fact that this neighborhood
Was christened "Freedom"
Strikes an empty pang.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
i am much younger than i am
my hair is dark and thick
instead of pruned bald
i am lean and meek
feeling hollow
as if weightless
we are at an airport
with no memory of getting there
i had left my hotel room urgently
in a jacket that is not mine
i can't find my Swedish wife
whom i miss like a panicked child
and my Asian wife whom i've never never met before
and know all to well
is angry
and could care less if i got lost forever
i am going home to my parents house
i remember that they are dead
but we had just spoken
there will be soup and Hors d'oeuvre's
they wait for me
on my way
the streets and boulevards are unfamiliar
yet old hat
and no matter how long i walk
i can never find their house
located somewhere in Brooklyn
on Haze street in San Francisco
i have a business
and retain no idea of what i do
i left my cloths somewhere
and i don't know why
in a locality i cant remember
for a reason that doesn't exist
a beautiful woman smiles offers me ***
she is friends with a girlfriend whom i'm committed too
but do not know and never met
i want to cheat with her
but guilty kisses will ruin everything
so i turn away
murdering desire
in an already anchor-less miasma
i remember a past
my life a continuum
of disjointed vagaries
tears well up
i fear myself a figment
a bodiless revenant
stranded in a fog
sparkles and smoke
incandescence and shrouds
a dis-junctured soul
that clutches memories
like braids of dust
living in the eye of nothing
a labyrinth of shades
lighted by the sun of cognizance
a wretched phantom
transparent husk
living a dark fiction
my grave a womb
i am the dead living
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
I have been to where
the lonely go, and I’ve
seen their luring towers,
A call to the hopeless, to those who come
from far away to see
if coming was a mistake.
Will we ever know
who doesn’t go?
and what of those that go
but remain unknown?
Perhaps they go at night.
The horror of it.
To not be able to see the end
but still it comes and quickly.
A silent floating moment
in a winter of regret,
a springtime of longing,
a summer of sunshine,
Or a fall to the end
of the world in 7 seconds.
A super cosmic collider of
meticulous destruction.
Whether they stay or go
its all the same,
multi-layered levels of
brokenness,
no one is immune.
No one is immune.
Some spend time putting
things back together,
the spacing between levels allows it.
Others break over and over
and over again,
not enough space for repair
while the pull of the towers,
the flaming red towers and
the fog rolling down
from the west promise silence.
When I stood at the edge and looked over,
the noise was deafening.
The ones without space
cannot hear.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.”
― Mother Teresa
May mga panahon sa buhay ko na nasayang, may mga darating pa siguro pero baka hindi ko na maabutan, tanging ang ngayon ang tangan ko sa aking palad. Sisiguraduhin ko na hindi ito masasayang. Gagamitin ko at pagyayamanin ang ngayon ko sapagkat ito lang ang oras na hawak ko. Magsusulat ako ng mga salitang matulain kahit hindi nila ito tanggapin. Kahit ako lang ang tunay na aangkin sa aking simulain. Kahit malalim ang dagat na aking lulusungin kapos man ang bait ito’y aking gagamitin at titimbulanin.
Walang yumayaman sa pagsusulat ng tula at ang buhay ng isang makata sa panukat ng lipunan ay laging salat. Pero wala na akong magagawa napasubo na ako, matagal ko na itong nilimot at tinalikuran subalit para itong isang sumpang anino na laging nakasunod ayaw akong tantanan. Mabuti pa ang nag-uulat sa radyo at telebisyon dahil may nakikinig pero sa sumusulat ng tula bihira lang ang lumilingap. Putang-Ina bakit ba kasi ito pa ang nakahiligan ko?
Siguro dahil dito ako sumasaya, kasi nagagawa kong bigyang tinig ang tahimik kong isipan. Bakit kasi hindi na lang ako naging payak sa lahat ng bagay lalo na sa gawaing pag-iisip? Bakit kasi masyado akong mapagmasid, mausisa at malikhain sa pagsasalarawan ng mga bagay-bagay? Bakit ayaw magpahinga ng aking diwa?
Hindi naman ako magaling sa tugmaan at sa pagkatha ng mga kinakailangang sukat kaya kinalimutan ko na ito. Pero may ulol na bumulong sa akin “ok lang yan may free verse naman e kung hindi mo kaya ipahayag sa tugmaan gamitin mo ang malayang taludturan”. Kaya ito nanaginip na naman ako ng gising at tinatawag ang sarili ko na isang “makabagong makata”. Putang Ina makatang walang pera at laging nangungutang. Buti man lang sana kung makukuha ko kahit ang kalahati ng tagumpay nina Walt Whitman, Amado V. Hernandez, Jose Corazon De Jesus at Francisco Balagtas o kahit na si Emilio Mar Antonio na lang – e tiyak na hindi naman.
Kanina pa tumatakatak ang tiklado ng aking computer, ayaw ko nang magsulat pero may demonyo na tumutulak sa akin para gawin ito. Ayaw akong patahimikan ng putang-ina. Kaya’t heto ako at nagpupursige parin. Ang makabagong makata ay hindi na muling tatalikod sa tawag ng tulaan. Kahit walang pera magpapatuloy ako kasi dito ako masaya, masaya pero malungkot din. Ewan, madalas hindi ko maintindihan. Hindi ko na muling sasayangin ang natitirang oras ko.
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 3:31 AM UTC
I was born on November 30th , I hear that makes me a Saggitarius.
I dunno what that means.
I know how to swim, and I'm a sucker for a guy with a nice smile
And nice words.
I'm still learning how to whisper sweet nothings
I'm often loud at times when I should be quiet
I'm often quiet at times when I should be loud
I keep holding back or letting it all out at the wrong time.
I like sweet drinks... a lot.
I've been told that I give pretty bad hugs
People say that it feels like I'm trying to escape
Well I don't like letting people close.
Especially close enough to hear me breathe.
I have this odd fascination with things like time machines and technology,
I assume it's because I like to figure out how things work and fix them.
Am the same way with people, like to know what's coming before it does.
Love usually lasts a few moments,
That's also why I tend to fall in love with men
Who would never love me back
I know it sounds crazy, but it's actually much saner than it seems
And to be honest, I think it's safer that way
See relationships, they often remind me that I'm not afraid of letting go.
But I'm scared of what's gonna happen
The moment that my body hits the ground
I'm clumsy. I usually trip when am following my feelings.
I landed on my pride and it shattered like a mirror i check daily.
Now I can't even tell who's trying to give me a compliment
or just trying to get into my pants.
I've never been into martial arts but I have all these bruises,
I got from beating myself up over things I can't fix
I know it sounds weird but sometimes,
I wonder what the voices in my head say when am asleep.
I wonder what the doors would do if they found out
About all the things that I've done when they are closed.
I've got a trash can that's overflowing with really, really obnoxious mistakes
And a dump site in my closet with all the skeletons.
You'll trap me in a corner and insist I get help.
Hi, my name is Em,
I enjoy ice cream and yoghurt, people watching
And figuring out how to make them work.
I allow myself to cry more than I need to,
from letting all the wrong people in.
I have solar-powered energy, I have a battery-operated heart,
It flickers and dies from overuse.
My hobbies include rewriting my life story, hiding behind poems,
And trying to convince myself that I do matter to someone.
I don't know much, but I do know this
I know that if you don't have standards,
you won't be treated right and be happy.
I know God is still reworking my faults and flaws,
I'm a unique work in progress.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
And when I met that girl in San Francisco
Off a dusty little pier
with rotting wood
and squawking seals
And screaming bayside wind
She caught me off-tropics
and danced with the grace
of a palm tree
lines between the quaked
concrete
off telegraph avenue
On an obscuring Sunday morning
and no
she didn't go
to church or any silly thing
like a temple or synagogue
She said those were no places
for god
God was the trees
We smoked cigarettes and got off to each other's
carcinogenic practices
oxidizing a little faster in conjunction with hopeful
Formaldehyde
Deriding the formalities
of small talk and trivialities
She liked her guitars with nickel-wound strings
I with nylon
But I couldn't play songs
that sounded any good with them
while she could
and did.
and girl did it ever sound good
She'd laugh at the contests on the radio
while we drove on a half-moon
to half-moon
full and whole of ourselves
We'd stopped in the lobby of a cheap motel
And waltzed to background
muzak
wacked out of our minds
Sniffing in deep huffs of subliminal
divinity
Understanding
loving
that mind-numbing
monotony
muzak...
ppsh.
Who ever really listened to that?
And then she left
at the end of one fine winter day
in a cloudless sky I waved
watched her plane
skip off
towards the edge of a pale blue horizon
back south
to warmer climes
to wherever she truly stayed
The tugging on my heartstrings
chimed grotesque in
precise
D minor.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
And now there would come a time
a swift sharp clock on the bed
Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells
Like an angry little arm
Charming if not for the alarm
And everyday I slap the face of it
Like an unwanted *****
And she is silenced
Quick unlike
Said chick
But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry
Nor cool or heat
There's nothing bothering me
Time just ticks off and I laugh at it
But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men
And yet I am not called upon them
Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts
No masterman
who failing to raise his hand
Clams up
With such poor artwork
Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan
Now In San Francisco
Where the alley streets stink of ***
And the European facades are just that
Crumbling
Poopy
And full of ****
And what yet are they dreaming to be?
The church that survived fire
Great conflagration
God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that,
Now did he?
He's a water-sign
Dolt
And water only jolts your mind
When it scatters true light,
Ain't that right?
But it's all the same
Just different hues
And the news
Isn't new
Just Blaring and yelling
And speeding television crews
Riding their stories
Up and down the many stories
Trying to build a city of angels
On a bituminous hill
Shills
No life skills
And I walk the city streets with a ugly old leather
Brief
Casing the joints and rolling my own
Unhappy and alone
Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet
And he has no road
While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air
Going god knows where
Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball
Perpetually trapped in the machine
How bout Nippon
Or Hangujin
Or Han Chinese
Or Berlin
Anywhere but when
A little ways along the state
Of "in"
All these strange things
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
If I were only me I would drive to San Francisco
and jump off the big orange bridge.
I might do it if I knew it
wouldn’t hurt them,
but I can't because it would
so I keep fighting all
this **** that haunts me.
I have eleven reasons not to do it,
eleven people I will not name,
eleven reasons
not to hit the water at 86 mph,
eleven reasons to avoid massive internal bleeding,
to avoid broken ribs and punctured lungs,
to avoid …telescoping fractures……
asphyxiation by blood and……
….telescoping fractures……..
Eleven reasons to avoid 4 seconds
of second guessing.....and telescoping fractures…..
Eleven reasons…… …....................OK twelve.
Eleven people in my life I couldn’t do it to.
Twelve including me because I know I won’t like
the sound of what it might sound like,
the difference in my mind between the sound
of fractures and the sound of telescoping fractures,
a terrifying sound, enough to keep me away from
San Francisco, not to mention the big orange bridge.
I lie awake at night with numbers racing around inside
my head, 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour,
4 seconds from rail to water, 220 feet to fall,
24 hours in a day, 86 miles per hour at impact.
I keep counting and sleeping fitful frightening sleep,
endure nightmares of falling, flying off the big orange bridge,
reaching upward, the bridge getting smaller and smaller,
and every morning I wake before impact still a martyr
for all of us.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 1:03 PM UTC
Pt. Anand Ji A To Z Problem Solution 72 Hours And With 100% Guaranteed. 45 Years EXPERCANCE With In Astrology Systematic Call To Guru Ji +91-8239810997 And Get Advice From Him. Any Problem In Mobile +91-8239810997 Astrology or/and Vashikaran solutions are also very effective for resolving or averting extramarital affairs of husband or wife, in present and future years. Such solutions or measures can be maximally efficacious and safe if these are extended by a well-learned, well-experienced, righteous, and globally reputed astrologer or relationship vashikaran specialist, like our guru ji astrologer-cum-vashikaran specialist pt.Anand ji of India. This web-article is dedicated exclusively to offering detailed and very beneficial information over the solutions of our dignified and benevolent guru ji, for resolving or eliminating unwanted extramarital affairs of any partner of the married life, to make the domestic life smooth and succulent, peaceful, and truly opulent.
The extramarital affairs of husband or wife could be caused by anyone or more of the following reasons:
Astrological Factors
Constantly increasing distance between husband and wife
Differences in the lifestyle and priorities of the two married partners
Absence of full confidence in the other partner
Understanding and compatibility problems between husband and wife
Easily available company of an alluring person of opposite gender
Lack of marital harmony, intimacy, and succulence
Issues related with financial, occupational, or social status of any INTERNATIONAL SERVICE WITH GUARANTEE POWERFUL LOVE ASTROLOGER Anand Ji FROMPUSKARJI RAJASTHAN 45 EXPERCANCE ALL PROBLEM SOLUTION BY SADHANA Hello can u disturb in your life problems and not get desire results? Here is the solution of all problems like as follow:- := love marriage := Business problemsolution := Problem in husband wife := Foreign traveling := Problem in study := Problem as childless := Physical problem := Problem in family relations := problem in your love := Willful marriage := Promotions our wised love back all solutions in your life within 72 hours and with 100% guaranteed. With in astrology systematic call to guru ji and get advice from him. Any problemsin Mobile :+91-8239810997WORLD NO. 1 FAMOUS GURU ASTROLOGER/INDIA /West Bengal OMAN Cape town canada america Usa in Ontario , Toronto Kuwait , Qatar , Doha , Saudi Arabia , San Francisco Singapore , Italy , Germany , Paris , Belgium, France , Berlin , Spain UK, USA, AUSTRALIA, UAE, DUABI, CANADA, Sydney,ENGLAND,united kingdom,SINGAPORE, NEWZEALAND, GERMANY, ITLY, MALASIYA,Abu dhabi London IN New York kuwait SouthAfrica,South Korea,Thailand Qatar,England,Queens California HongKong Japan Brazil
More info visit my Website... http://www.thelovevashikaran.com/
Email .. [email protected].....................
Contact us. .+91-8239810997.............
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
* * *
Absorbing dust and Golden heat,
living more openly than I do,
he shimmies to Billie Holiday
The year is not 1957, though
he lives in a San Francisco fog
longing to play the piano
The time in not 11:57pm, though
he orders a ***** martini & swims
in the fishbowl bay
Escaping to Telegraph Hill
to drink moonlight jazz & vermouth
he pretends to live
Way back when
* * *
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
Watching Trending videos on YouTube,
2 of the top ten videos are dead,
which means I’m watching ghosts,
having deja vu see it seems I’ve seen this scene before,
Rest In Peace Mac Miller,
Resit In Pease Xxxtentacion,
this spirits have be writing frantically,
going for gold or at least an honorable mention,
want to be anything except forgotten,
skin is fresh but core is rotten,
scent of cologne watching Post Malone,
give an interview on Jimmy Fallon,
seems we’ve fallen,
and our idols are a sign of where we’re at,
war never stopped it just changed forms,
from Germany to Vietnam to Iraq,
as the sun sets over San Francisco Bay,
I watch the colors run,
indifferent to the cause and the effect,
nothing’s perfect but the sky always looks so beautiful,
as I gaze out this bedroom window,
in a house I do not own,
just touched down from Australia,
back in The Bay for another round,
taking a moment to reflect,
in my feelings as the sun sets,
and it feels like we’ve seen it all,
even though we know we haven’t seen anything yet,
watching Trending videos on YouTube,
2 of the top ten videos are dead,
which means I’m watching ghosts,
having deja vu see it seems I’ve seen this scene before…
∆ LaLux ∆
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 9:16 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Locked down nineteen hours
Five hours he plays
That’s the way the prisoner
Whiles away his days
On death row for the murders
Of his wife and son
Locked in a four foot nine cell
For the crime he’s done
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Decomposing and headless
In San Francisco Bay
He said she was missing
But she was found that way
His son’s lifeless fetus
Had previously washed ashore
Which repulsed everyone
Even that much more
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Her family were all hoping
She’d be found alive
Though he knew she was dead
He feigned concern (what jive)
She was weighted down
Which made him quite convinced
That she’d never be found
Floating in that rinse
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
While they were contemplating
Their poor loved one’s fate
His only concern was
Which chick he should date
See he had to satisfy
An internal itch
But karma is a mother for ya
It can be a *****
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Four years down and counting
See I’ve done the math
It’s death by lethal injection
For that sick sociopath
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
I’m going to be honest,
I’m not a love poet
But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning
And decide that I really wanted to write about love
I swear that my first poem…
It would be about you
About how I loved you the same way
That I learned to ride a bike:
Scared
But reckless
With no training wheels or elbow pads
So my scars can tell you the story of how I fell for you
~Rudy Francisco
I’m not Rudy Francisco
But every man has his own words
So if I was a love poet
God knows I would still write about you
But I would write about how
That smile of yours might only last a moment
But I'll do everything I can to make it last a lifetime
And then... I will make sure it lasts an eternity
If I was a love poet
I would tell you how
You make all of my days
So I'll make it my duty to make all your tomorrows
I would tell you
That the sun rises each and every morning
Because it wants to see you
Because as bright as the sun is
It is blinded by your light
And you make me want to see
What blindness is really like
So I can look at you for the
Short moment before I lose my sight
Because then
Your image will always be with me
However, If I really cared
I would tell you
You’re better off alone
Than with me
Because I know
I know I’ll hurt you
And I can’t bare the thought of that
I would tell you
I’m not enough
And I never will be
Because enough isn’t in me
If I really cared
I would tell you
Nothing
Because I don’t deserve the chance to speak to you
However to tell you any of this
You would have to be real
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of
Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons
Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,
Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.
In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,
Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.
In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.
In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me
To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.
Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined
The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
there was a little hamster he boarded on a ship
took his little suit case for his little trip
he sailed across the sea on a great big boat
standing on the deck as it began to float
he was heading for america in the usa
to visit san francisco and its great big bay
he landed in america then headed for the shore
sat down by the bay then headed home once more
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 6:45 AM UTC
i saw you
across the abandoned street
flushed in tints pouring out of the moon
soaked in hues dripping down the ruby neon lights
smothered in summer's cool
like
fresh strawberries
plump tomatoes
a fallen rose petal
a pinch of cayenne
no need to turn around
your beauty already pierces the dull city
with the ferocity of a desperate swordfish
watch in smug as it bleeds
so casually through
your waist to thigh
these red eyes
watching in awe as your move
effortlessly around your curves
navigating the stares into
a river of desire
rushing down the hills of San Francisco
yet there you stood alone
the awkward sore on the pale face of street
greeting the thinning traffic with a broken smile
painting the corner with your heavenly red light
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 10:44 PM 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
Sitting in a café in mexico
Listening to French songs on the radio
Drinking a pacifico and trying to remember how I got here
I think I caught the ship in San Francisco
After I caught the blues in Tennessee
And then I got kicked off down here in southern mexico
Yea, I think its finally coming back to me
And im
Sitting in a café in mexico
Listening to French songs on the radio
Drinking a pacifico and trying to remember how I got here
Well I watched Singyn ride the rail
so I jumped on that train
had close calls and broke some laws
never even felt the pain
ran all over town that night red paintbrushes in hand
I cant explain no more cuz I don’t think you’d understand
Well the ‘One Stop Mariachi Shop’
Is where we bought our leather vests
Tried our luck at bullfighting and lost but did our best
Found out roller skates don’t work when you’re on cobblestone
All out of pesos and I just want to go home
(c)2008 CJG
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
You sad fool. My dear, old friend
How I find myself waiting for you again.
Your eyes drive into mine, with brights on,
and you leave palpable words hanging in the air with the writings by your teeth,
without a mouth to open, just jaw clenched, no recognition of existence,
And your hands are soldering irons cooled clenched until clashing into my air
Touching time, and instantaneously heating space, as an element
Reaching Avogadro's number, ten to twenty-third
Holes appear between us.
I remember when we used to laugh
And mostly at each other,
but not as we do now.
There was no malice.
One day maybe there will be solace.
"You act as though I'm a nice guy"
So it's true you like to objectify
The object (oh, the irony) of your affection
Which is anything that cares to mention
How creative was your invention
It was not my intention to
Organize a fluidity to the scrutiny
And the staged mutiny of what was a foundation.
For it's not representative to your thumbprint.
I feel no organization here. You have ordered chaos.
Francisco,
Bring up your lights.
Just remember that you look best at night, when the moon is carved into the sky
and your real intentions revealed.
Where you sit upon that pale desk
And wrap your knuckles against the floor,
Stab with a quill the pools you leave behind,
to write your ***** recollection,
Just remember you look best when your tears catch this starlight.
Francisco, bring up your ****** lights.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 12:02 AM UTC
the homeless are ******** in the streets,
well some of them are
the homeless have been ******** in the streets
a lot lately
when they are not getting scatological on the streets of seattle
they are conjuring the other images of themselves, because there is always so much more to this story
as they sit on the sidewalk and/or in entrances of shops, restaurants, and other commercial establishments
throwing empty beer cans in the street
at the people walking past
they say seattle is going to be the next san francisco
because that is what tech is, nothing new
forgotten already done ideas redone
same price tags same coast line same **** in the streets
they must have thought something better
was here, waiting for them
when they rode into town
from other towns
housing, more drugs, a new life
in these streets that they **** in
not sure what they heard
their tents under the over pass
their trash upon the hill
overlooking the highway
their tents always have a highway view
their trash too
i should be that afraid of my own life
of what tomorrow will be
oversharing in a voice
that is not my own
miss jean brodie in **** city style
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 5:16 AM 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
Rumble.
The earth loved San Francisco so much
Boom.
That he opened wide and swallowed it whole
Crash.
I'd love to make an earthquake with you
Moan.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 12:02 AM UTC