"hustled" poems
It was a lovely afternoon
When I felt dizzy and soon
Started to feel as if my chair's moving
I looked up at the pendant hanging
Freely and also dancing
Back and forth
It wasn't just me who was moved
It was the earth and the whole building hoofed
Back and forth
One slip of plate
And it moved the whole earth.
It was mild
I hoped it won't go wild
Calling for my loved ones
I ran to the ground
People hustling, steps making a panic sound
From the eighth floor I felt it stopped
But as if it read my mind, earth again rocked
More than I've ever felt before
We all hustled downstairs in case it got wilder more
Old people, children running,
Mothers, scared, panicked, scooting.
Down the building everyone waited
Till the earth slowy bated
And stopped in a sudden motion
We were glad it wasn't that strong
Back to home, we all scurried
Switched on our televisions in a hurry.
Though the earth was soft on us
There were places where everything was crushed,
Homes, offices, families destroyed
Everything because of simple but strong
Back and forth
What is happening in the world?
Is it the human being which the earth loaths?
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
Julie had never been one to partake in
Girly things, dollies and frills
Julie was one of those tomboy like girls
Who looked out for adventurous thrills
She loved riding bikes, down the hill at high speed
Screaming loud with her hands in the air
But Julie could not play in organized sports
Her mum said the cash wasn't there
She sat on the sidelines and watched all the games
To not play the game was a sin
But Julie Macado would spend her whole life
On the outside of things looking in.
She knew all the players on all of the teams
She wanted so badly to play
But Julie Macado would learn pretty fast
She was one of the have-nots that day
In gym she was better than all of the guys
She sank every shot that she tried
But organized sports was just out of her league
She was still sitting on the outside
Her friends that she played with said
"Go see the coach", maybe he'll let you join up
When she told her poor mother that that's what's she'd do
Her mother told her to shut up
"I've done my best girl, to give you a life"
"And charity...I'll never take"
"If you're gonna play then you'll pay your own way
"For you learn more when somethings at stake"
So Julie went out, hustled, working part time
Doing all that she could to make bucks
But, when she had enough money to finally join in
The season was done...and that *****
Even though she had shown she could be on the team
She was finished and did not begin
Poor Julie Macodo was still not on the team
She was still outside looking in
She worked all that summer making money galore
She'd be ready to sign up that fall
She had enough money to pay for herself
She was going to play basketball
Her mum lost her job in early July
The plant that she worked at had closed
Now she too was outside looking in at the others
They would move...that was what she supposed
Again Julie Macado would miss out again
All of her money she gave to her mom
She would be an outsider for all of her life
Never playing a game...'cept for fun
Even though she was better than all in her school
She would never be in looking out
Until that one day, when a man from Kentucky
Had come up to Freeling to scout
He'd heard of this girl, who could shoot from the floor
She had skills that he had seldom seen
He signed her on up to a four year free ride
It was all like a really good dream
He told her of how, he had gotten a letter
About a young girl ..that was her
It was written in crayon and a little bid blurry
And it stated out with a Dear Ser,
the spelling was bad, but he read it completely
It told of how Julie could play
But she had not school record, no history so
He set out to see the girl play
He contacted the school and he asked them for game films
They said she played only in gym
So he set out directly to see for himself
The decision would be up to him
Now, Julie Macado has realized her dream
Her life is all set to begin
She did it herself, with a note from her Mother
She was no longer out looking in.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
Watching night step-sitters staring at each passerby
abiding time as if counting sheep stepping with the city's cadence
Hearing sirens alarming in their BEWARE BLARING;
persistent fearfulness for evil and citizens securities
Staring-walking-bodies searching a barren land prostrating
before the great needle
Patched streets and decaying sidewalks by flooding night lights lay surreal
DECAYING fingers of poverty playing its fingers into every crack, crevice; into every pore, into every cell member
into one's whole being
Sounding the hip-hop generation street corners of hustlers
jiving away the night
The hustled and hustlers' overwhelming struggling for power; being surrounded by red brick and stone; being incased in poverty
Pounding city hysteria;
at times laying silent in sleepless depth
by the waning gradualness;
anytime readying itself to ERUPT
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
For instance, recall daisies,
or if you have not seen one, so much the better.
Paint me a crass picture and sleep
on the shallow crevasse. Stilt through
the orchard and search there: nothing still.
Even the nothingness is form-fitting, and thus,
your vestigial image of daisies. Mold something
out of the vacuity, and there a retrograde sculpture
will wind back to clay. Cornerstones have your name,
and your name even so, has taciturnly placed stones.
Stones. These tiny bodies that lay, undemanding,
scourged by the rapid passage of a carriage.
I wait there, with them, still thinking of daisies.
I know of a child, cylindrically obtuse, in front of the mirror.
Have you seen yourself in the hazy windows
of the Metro? What do you see? I still see daisies.
Or people with heads of daisies. But remember your
forethought of daisies? They are nothing. I am a beheaded daisy
in the lackadaisical wind of Summer. There is nothing to gain
here but the sadness of cold passing. And the child that I am speaking
of, his name, Magno. Sturdy like the rucksack he’s carrying,
lovelessly trundling altogether with the pipes and the
handrails, almost signaling the alarm without warning.
This uncared-for sultry evening decides to splinter
itself against the masses. Again, the daisies appear to me,
this time, in heady form rogue with peripatetic fragrance.
Magno used to unearth daisies and give them to her
mother when he was stiflingly young – he hustled through
the carefully placed furniture. Whatever happened to him,
I know not. And just like the daisies we have come to know now,
trains that do not belong to anyone, and the daisies too, that go
unheard of and unknown to the behest of the city,
have gone into the subtle beginning of everything
that once started in itself, the form of splendor. Nothing.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:27 AM UTC
Fashionable entourage
people dance in step
to the beat of hidden
native rituals
Hidden here and there
seeing a pair clad up to the hilt
with colored shades
cool as mountain glades
that never
shakes or simmers
on fire
a real deep desirous searching soul
Rapping about nothing
even though
face to face
words bounce off expressions
as cool as mountain glades
that soon melt-fade
into the distance
Rap, tap, clap
never nap
the cannibus-filled room
embellished by flashing lights
on nights
that take spatial flights
into another world that enters upon
lounging everywhere
people lost in space,
in time,
in androgynous acts
In vogue, you speak to me
about fashions
that dazzle, frazzel, razzle,
and lip curl
and eye twinkle
me to you,
in real
but unreal
cannibus-sweet-dusky-dreamy-rooms
MTV blotched, bleached
Sergio Valente dungarees,
then a real feeling child cries
in the background
and is soon hustled off to bed
And never a hurt we laugh
and smile
and smile
A frozen smile grin;
take it on the chin sport
Keep up the good front
Keep up the grinning fort sport
A sported fort fortified Disneyland
and life's forever
carousel ride
and sweep the dirt under the carpet
A speak about profits
And speak about"ME" yuppie things;
about golden rings
that wrap around ears, around wrists, and cattle noses
Seek time entwined
to search geometrically
the advertisements
that lead you
and nobody but you to you
A love ballad between
one and no one but you
You and you
and you
and you
Being good you
you being good to you,
Being good to nar-sa-see-you
you being good to only you,
to yoou
to yoou
to yoooooooooou
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
a toast to the gods of self preservation
twenty one with plenty coming
allowing to pound sounds within
the crown aroused voided a founders of it’s bruises
spells hold the fold, I’m coasting with the best
resting in the east so I sleep with blinds low
the comfort zone is far from solitude
my molecules have aptitude to channel Jupiter
seatbelts are useless wastes of matter, excuse me
just a minute so you can miss me with that individuality
your calloused grip on reality impairs the singularity
old school, gold noose, silver lined diamonds
Jesus pieces reaped the seeds that teach your blind lids
came back with scabbed knuckled and heart scars
hustled the portal of pretension ever so ethereally
inner synthesis purged the day the plague hit
on the courts or the graves, you name the slaves
the game slayed the day the chains changed hands
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
It was ancient ago we were fond & foe
Once little rascals together we grew
Far apart 'till bounds forebear
Each world soared & flapped
An impending monstrous frosty gap
One fine love-is-in-the-air day in a twist of fate
As this nymph unaimed by cupid's arrow
When all my friends & beau in fun they wallow
Your sudden hailed revere embraced in haste
Then in my own prinky whimsy plot
Both unexpectedly got trapped
In such long winding tracks we hustled
Through the hurdled altar together sprinted
Both oblivious as pledge of affection consecrated
While ocean's torrent & tide waded
A solemn for-us-then-quixotic promise to keep sacred.
At some point the on-off blissful lock flutters
As life isn't all sunshines & buttercups we struggle
Yet notwithstanding the trials & tribulations
Such troth acknowledge without question
And now has the moon stone or opal
As our anniversary gemstone
Will our gemstone lose its lustre
Or will it continue to shine like a flash of lightning from heaven
Are we fiercely resolute to bid for the silver
Or stay solid firm to wish for the golden
And vow to persevere for the truly eternal diamond.
One thing we know for sure...LOVE CONQUERS ALL!
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:37 PM UTC
Dear Courtney,
My dress was soaked by the slippery wet road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on train 25, and the bay is bluer than usual. The clock strikes 12 in the afternoon. The sky is breathtakingly painted on the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.
I sit here, while I cannot take my eyes off the greens. It is the first time in a while, but it has always been nostalgic with you here. The trees stand there, and the train moves at its monotonous pace. This time, I am thanking this train for its urgency. Maybe it wants us to see each other again. Just you wait, Courtney. Tomorrow, we will see each other again.
It's dawn, and the morning breakfast is here in front of me. It is a complete set. Just like what you like. Tea, toasted bread, egg, and tomato. Ah, I thought I saw you sleeping here beside me. Am I doing it again? Wait for me, dear friend, for I will see you now.
There the trees and the mountain face me. The scenery is telling me a story. A memory of you and me. Ah, dear friend, it is almost evening. I hope you're thinking of your friend here while you're taking a sip of your wine.
The train has stopped, and I am here now, Courtney. I hope this letter reaches you, dear friend.
"She's really a writer, huh?" The nurse said while she read me Cordelia's letter. I nodded and smiled.
"How was she?" I asked. The lump in my throat was so heavy that I could not breathe.
"She's resting peacefully in the bay of Mayhem, Courtney." The nurse then held my hand.
"Do you think she's happy?" I asked her.
"Hon, her eyes will give you life. Of course, she is." She kissed me on the forehead and pushed my wheelchair.
"You will have life again, Courtney. I will see you after the operation."
My dress was soaked by the slippery wet road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on train 25, and the bay is bluer than usual. The clock strikes 12 in the afternoon. The sky is breathtakingly painted on the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.
"Thank you for your eyes," I whispered, and tears began to well up. The wind hustled, and the trees hurried to drop their leaves.
I took out my notebook and pen. I wrote how the scenery by the bay gave me comfort.
Cordelia, I hope this letter reaches you.
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 5:09 PM UTC
I remember the day
when we went out
for a drink
or two
I remember it so vividly
in this old box of mine
that rests wearily
upon my shoulders
I recall taking you back to work
"I'll pick you up at eight"
I said to you
I did
Then of course
we called up the old gang
you and I
and went in search
of mayhem
loose women
and looser talk
Not much on the former, eh, o' buddy o' mine
Oh no, but plenty of the latter
which is usually
the case
You had just been introduced
to a **** cider
that you gulped like a drowning musk rat
then you were sick
and we called out
the
staff
who hurried and hustled
with a bucket of their finest
tap water
I watched in hysterics
as I patted your back
and watched the street lights
as they made your innards glisten
AND THE SHINE!
Oh, that perfect
shine
as the water washed away your remains
Poetic foreshadowing I am afraid, mate
as a bucket called Cadillac
washed up your remains
many years later
over the asphalt
AND THE SHINE!
Oh, that perfect shine
that a once pure immaculate light that was your enduring spirit
had waned
long before the wax melted.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Started with
Happy New Year
spelled out
in rails of *******
carefully measuring
which letter
was largest
each of us got one
you
remember.
Carolyn
came with me
she was dressed in red
she figured that bowl
of quualudes
was
all meant for her.
The gang was all there
passing out gifts
rusted out back scratchers
found in the garage
no kids yet.
Sheraton spoke in mysteries
his wife Jane
hustled me behind the shed
Joaquin
was drunk on his knees again
screaming for ***** and poetry
Patti
had recently found recovery
and I was spending my time
trying to convince her to drink.
The party didn't begin
until
Mary and Stuart arrived
our personal gurus
took us all
one step higher.
Olivia and Aaron
had
much to hide.
Davey
was
the ring master.
We
didn't have to go to the circus
we were the circus.
Little Feat
were still willing
the Dobbie Brothers
in high pitch
were still chillin
the Dead played amazing riffs
Bob Dylan was street legal
the Boss was depressed
the
sound track to our lives.
I gotta job
working in a drug free program
all the staff
sat in a VW van
having a staff meeting
and
passing a joint.
Carolyn and I
kinda got married
had a big party
I knew I was in trouble when
she launched herself
on the bed of gifts
and tried to swim
up stream.
I
learned all the messages
of
Alanon
in one brief flash
Everything passes
everything changes
we all know that.
I got a real job I wasn't qualified for
missed a deadline at school
tossed out on my ***
no 26 year old
Ph.D.
for me
just another suicide
on the horizon
saw my grandmother
and
the white light
but
also at the job
met the future mother
of my children
and of course
she was to be
my
future ex-wife.
When Carolyn found this out
she
brought
a gun to my work
to
tell me what she
thought about that
it ended all right
on that night.
I lived in Laurel Canyon
in a beautiful garden
on Wonderland Avenue
John Holmes
was my neighbor
bigger than life.
1978
It ended as it started
with *******
the big chill crowd
together again
one last look back at the year
in
Super 8
Davey's traditional dance as historian
for the year that passed
one last look
and
farewell.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC
My mouth widened its passage to yawn out the drowsiness,
in my dizzy mind and endless tickling of my eyes closing—
while I still fight for my consciousness to live,
while she was out there playing fire with the rain.
Where the time goes back and she meets me from the tree of souls,
from her tears there comes a glimpse of tomorrow, and from her black silky hair,
there comes a defying gravity
of sleep and reality.
I once entered a door of hope—where the dead sleeps and live
from heavenly green pastures,
trees alive and birds whistling
a great melody of harps
and angels' tune,
there I saw her—and the time stops,
the bell rang, the place filled with the tricky lights,
from the tree of souls,
there is one key that holds the glimpses of yesterday and tomorrow.
I yawned out the momentum of my blissful sleep
waking up from a deep heavy dream,
the clock ticked, the trees danced, the winds hustled, and
I danced on the curtains of life.
I kept a straight face and distanced myself
from the harmony it brings,
my body sways and my voice sang
a melody with an unfamiliar tune,
my heart swelled and I saw her.
She slowly stride her feet and welcomed me her arms, while I let out the tears
and cry crystal diamonds, wiped it with her swollen hands—
she let out a laugh I am longing to hear,
“It will be over, I promise.”
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
Lincoln died today
He hustled to an early grave
After patience bore the pain of hell
One final bullet to his dismay
Robbed him of the end he craved
Not of time or the sullen knell
But the kiss of a dagger in his worn hand
A battle lost and a battle won
A perdition purged a new ring rung
He's left this hollowed land
Consecrated by blood and gun
And travels now to songs unsung
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 9:16 PM UTC
I MET THE 'UPTOWN GIRL' IN A DOWNTOWN BAR,
BILLY AND I SPOKE AWHILE ACROSS MANY A JAR,
NEW YORK BUSTLED AND HUSTLED AND WE WHISPERED
ACROSS THE TABLE, LAUGHED ABOUT McCARTNEY'S THIRD MARRIAGE,
RINGO'S STILL WITH BACH AND WALKS IN CENTRAL PARK,
BILLY SPOKE ABOUT THE 'PIANO MAN,'LIT HIS CIGARETTE,
SAID THAT THERE WAS ALWAYS SOMEONE WHO HADN'T BEEN FULFILLED YET,
HE ASKED IF I'D SEEN ELTON LATELY - HE STILL USED
SOME SUNGLASSES THAT HE'D BEEN GIVEN AT A WILD PARTY,
ASKED ABOUT ANNE - I SAID THAT 'SHE'S ALWAYS A WOMAN TO ME,'
HE LAUGHED AND SAID THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR, SIMILAR
TO THE LOVES IN HIS LIFE BUT YOU CAN'T BEAT A WONDERFUL WIFE;
THE SECRET HE SAID, WAS 'HONESTY' WOULD ALWAYS GO FAR,
THEN SHE'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU, 'JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.'
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
You have to start
by finding things
to burn.
Turn the island
into a tinderbox.
Fill your truck with driftwood
and detritus hustled up from
derelict construction sites.
Scavenge plywood scraps
and lengths of two-by-fours.
Find a spot beneath the dunes
and dig into the still-warm sand,
your rusted shovel syncopating
with the rhythm of the waves,
crunching into the cool dark
hollow of a deepening pit.
By dusk, the hole will be capable
of containing everything you want
to burn.
Set the shovel down.
When the darkness
finds you all alone,
take the lighter fluid
in one hand
and a match
in the other.
Wait for the
wind to die.
If you do it right,
the orange embers
will crack and rise,
truant children
ushered home
by pacing stars.
If you do it right,
the smell of salt and smoke
will stay with you for days.
If you do it right,
the bonfire will
bloom like a flower
and consume itself
all night long.
In the morning,
your work will
have healed, doctored
by persistent currents
and the extinguishing
sweep of high tide.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
My phone rang,
Saw her name flashing after eternity,
but, WHY ?
Why would you call now?
Ain't we done yet.
last time I checked,
you were long gone,
gone too far to be back.
You hustled into another relationship,
couldn't wait to give me another chance,
wasn't I worthy ?
I have tried enough,
I have cried enough,
Can't bear this no more.
Just come back,
Or leave me alone, forever, please!
No calls !
No texts!
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 7:28 AM UTC
There were several hundred of us
And we were marching up the street.
We could hear some of the curses
We did not consider defeat.
We were lawfully assembling there
Though the custom bade us not.
The time had come, we would not stop
We would strike while the iron was hot.
It was the one-year anniversary
Of rebellion against unfair laws
And there were many thousands of us
There to rally for a righteous cause.
We intended to show them all
What social freedom can mean.
And it was all started a year before
By some righteous, rebellious queens.
We were respectful and orderly
As we formed the parade
It was seen to that all permits
Were properly secured and made.
There were some simple floats
And choirs and groups
That were marching together
In Hollywood's traditional
And pleasant summer weather.
The police stood by, many deep
To be sure we **** behaved.
And so we all mostly did
So nobody ended in a grave.
We didn't hear of anyone
Being hustled into the lockup.
Forgive the pun, but it went down
Without much of a cockup.
TV was there, but not a horde,
And we got thirty seconds later.
We were pretty sure that alone
Would stimulate the haters.
To see us gays holding hands
And kissing in the street.
We were sure it would bring
Bigots at home to their feet.
But we didn't care, we had done
What even we didn't expect.
We got Hollywood and society
To look at us with respect.
Things started to change then
In California and everywhere.
We were here and we were queer
And no longer easy to scare.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 11:42 PM UTC
It’s about time
our design
came to life
Early morning light
casts a florescent glow
onto the autumn leaves
when the air around me
bends and weaves;
A-thing is to arrive.
as lightning steals your eyes,
I could not see them then
and I cannot see them now.
Is it only what is found between us?
at the point of relocation lies a charm;
a bad idea, an incentive, if you must
for where there is emotion there is harm.
Trust is always amiable,
the truth was always hard to explain.
drugs that play like cannibals
and sleep that keeps you like a slave;
inside my barracks
and I sleep alone.
the hustled train
delivers mellow drones.
Lips in hands,
eyes in mouth,
something I need
to talk about.
But things would start to grow moldy,
every bone shapes up to limbs that crack and shake
they fall down.
they fall apart.
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC
Draped in gloom light
awful dead humanity
I left for the world
to find that
iron spoke to
air in secret Breath
Flora drank down
sunlight frothy Buzz
and up
liquid leapt from earth
for high-up night clubs
falling back in dreary
morning Joy for
underfoot cities of
hustled and bustled
terra forma
systematic, immaculate
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
The War Correspondent
A helicopter skeetered bravely in
And pitched and yawed against the enemy fire
That wasn’t there. The manliest of men
Descended unto us in flawless attire
His tailored khaki suit was starched and pressed
Its creases as sharp as a Ka-bar knife
Never was a reporter more perfectly dressed
For getting the news while risking his life
The C.O. sped him past our positions
And hustled him into the T.O.C.1
To ensure each noun and preposition
Would be written for the greater good, you see
Much ink and Scotch were undoubtedly spilled
In air-conditioned comfort, no heat or mud;
With scripted heroics his notebook was filled
No need to stain his suit with his precious blood
After an hour he was hustled back
To Saigon for an evening reception
After he wrote of a great attack
And wired New York his immaculate deception
A helicopter skeetered bravely out
And yawed and pitched against a sniper’s shot
That wasn’t there. A great Communist rout?
There’s more than one kind of jungle rot
1Tactical Operations Center - command bunker, often air-conditioned.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
My average means I don’t have to take final exams.
So my bachelor's degree is a finished product.
I cranked it out, all that’s left now is the walk (May 18th).
Let’s call it my nearly forgotten masterpiece.
My schedule says that I start a 1-year ‘master of public health’ degree in 38 days.
It was my mom’s idea. She said, “You need to keep active” (pre- med-school).
It sounds crazier to me now than it did last year, when I was accepted and agreed.
Now, I feel like some chary, aging showgirl who’s about to be hustled back on-stage.
But what’s life without massive compromise?
Anyway, don’t cry for me. I’m still sizing it all up, I’ll figure it out.
I suppose we’re all out there hustling.
It’s our response to slowing med-school admissions,
those glitches in the medical, industrial education complex
or that’s how the narrative’s shaped, anyway.
It’s not the additional work that bothers me, I’m regular worker bee,
It’s the perma-threat of loneliness.
I’m already packing. Leaving feels real
and I'm surfing this maudlin wave tonight—shading deep blue.
The simple march of time will take away friends I’ve grown to love.
We’ve allegorised and transformed one another by proximity.
I’ve really loved it here.
.
.
Songs for this:
Graduation (Friends Forever) by Vitamin C
Graduation Day by Tony Rivers & The Castaways
Apr 21, 2025
Apr 21, 2025 at 8:01 AM UTC
I once saw a deer passing by,
its eyes intriguing and delicate —
he was walking unhurriedly while the lights
behind him swerved and danced pokily.
While I gathered my hands to touch him,
he turned around and ran away.
I once saw a shadow passing by,
its being brought chills to my bones —
he was walking behind me, unhurried,
while there was no light dancing around us.
Even the winds stopped breathing;
until I remembered, he was me.
I once saw a man passing by,
his presence gave me comfort and light.
He was running away —
I asked him, “Where are you going?”
He answered, “To the future.”
I smiled and turned to him, “Let's go.”
He held my hands, and we both ran together.
I once saw a mirror echoing back my voice,
its existence drove my mind and broke
into tiny pieces — while I went bewildered and
did not know what to do, he laughed and shattered
into fragile broken pieces.
He cried out, and I ran away.
I saw the deer passing by,
its eyes gentle and noble —
he stepped and stepped,
until he was facing me.
Behind him were the lights that stopped dancing,
and the wind hustled a great bone-chilling harsh cold.
“You can remember now?”
He asked, “Yes,”
I told him and ran away
to the future. I came, and all the shadows and mirrors broke and moaned in great pain.
I remember him now.
Nov 23, 2020
Nov 23, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC
I will always remember my one true love,
The catch, the glide, the finish,
The way it seemed to take the hurt,
And make it all diminish,
But how could a love so pure,
Be the purest form of pain,
How was I ever to endure,
Living a life in endless vain,
For I pushed through every needle stitch,
Every procedure, broken bone and ailment,
I was rowing's little stupid *****
I was the team's heaven sent,
I let every bone tear from the muscle,
Every tendon rip in half,
Through sprains and blood I hustled,
I kept pulling on that oar's dead shaft,
Until the pain went through my body,
The pressure to much for my canal,
I was all an athlete truly can embody,
I kept in it, kept up my morale,
But this moment here when I am scrutinized,
By the person I have been placed to serve,
Is when this dedication finally dies,
So no, its not the bulging discs inside;
It's this moment that really hit a nerve.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
Her heels clicked and clacked
Along the side walk
And her heart turned to black
As her **** talked
Fifty if you want a spin
He sneered and hustled
Even more if you want in
And her feathers ruffled
The ****** bag quickly dealt
With the customer
It never mattered how she felt
No one trusted her
Her eyes darted to the left
As she planned her escape
What some thought of as theft
She could call ****
She teased the man in room
Left him distracted
Told him she'd be in soon
After she practiced
Awakened and sober
She grabbed the knife
Quietly killed her lover
And gained a life
Now, suddenly free and alone
She never thought
Her body could be her own
And no longer bought
With nothing left to give
She no longer cried
The woman would live
While the ****** died
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 9:59 AM UTC