"leasing" poems
It’s about the American dream
To make more than you need
Through corporate greed
And pyramid schemes,
So I guess I’m not asleep
Since I eat rice and beans
In a crummy C.F.
Apartment,
Or what’s left of that
Ten by ten compartment
I can barely afford,
Like the ******
Degree that was supposed
To reward my hard effort
By leading me toward
A corner office
Or something
Like that
I should desire,
But **** it,
Let’s get higher,
I’m getting bored,
And my heart is heavy,
And I’ve been
Forsaken
By the country that
Bred me
Yet expects me
To slap on some flak
And attack
Fathers and sons and brothers
In Iraq
Over nothing
But ideological
Fluff
And political stuffing,
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s just not worth
The time or frustration
To engage in
This nation’s
Procreation
Of condemnation
Of logical reason,
Though reasoning
Lies not in the
Eye of the reasoner
Or that of the reasoned,
It’s gotta be easier
Than achieving
Appeasement
Through please
And leasing
Thank yous
To random
Strangers,
But if
You believe
They, like you,
Are human
Then the danger
Is fleeting,
Cuz they’re feeling
The same feelings,
The sane feelings of
The chronically
Sure,
The always right,
Everything in its
Right place,
Yea I know Tommy,
I must endure
And try to say
I should try to save
The knaves,
But life’s so easy
As a slave,
You buy your
Goods
And pave the way
For impoverished hoods
And hoodwinked
Majorities
Who’ve already
Made
The sacrifices
Necessary
For the necessary
To get paid,
Hope you did some good
With that bogus bonus
Mr. Suit and tie
And perfect life
With the plastic wife
And bank account
You’ll never drain,
No matter how many
Times you make it rain
On upscale hookers,
It runs too deep
To keep all to your
Selfish selves,
But I guess it’s our
Faults we don’t wear
The leadership caps
Cuz we should’ve pulled
Ourselves up by our
******* boot straps
And made something of
Ourselves, right?
Those that deserve
To make the big bucks
Make it happen, right?
Time for the forgotten *****
to put up a fight.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:26 PM UTC
I imagined a place in your heart and mind
But both of those places
Have become occupied
by a better tenant of your choice
I was waiting to see if you were
the right home for me
But I didn't put in my offer
fast enough.
Now my dream home is being
lived in, felt, breathed in, and cared for
by a tenant who is much better than me
I was ready
I had packed all my boxes,
The most meaningful memories
ready to be unleashed in this home
But now I'm left astray
with these boxes
in my U-Haul
That I don't know where to drive
I have to find another place,
But I can't move on right now
I can't find one as good as yours
Maybe your house wasn't as
great as I thought
and it was a sign from God
But now I'm stranded
Figuring out where to take this truck full of
boxes and heavy feelings
I secretly hope that your tenant will grow to dislike
what you're leasing out
I hope she'll one day decide to move out
and hope that you will offer it to me.
Apr 22, 2023
Apr 22, 2023 at 12:55 AM UTC
blood now is the accoutrement.
night's tenure is the morning's
leasing: what will continue to
light like a beacon in this
vicissitude is the flash
of a snuff-nosed nozzle.
no sound is heard.
no bones were felt
trembling.
all the voices were muffled,
thrown into a makeshift exodus.
the pains will be etched away
like moss unraveling the secret
of wall upon wounds like old scarves.
but the ground,
which has girdled this resounding feat, will never forget:
death's squadron enters. harbingers.
what has hidden them in the lull
has now sung severances:
a distance closed
by a fusillade
of bullets.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
if my rent is late
**** em
they can always hate
the landlord
she don't appreciate
she just be like
what's that noise?
***** i'm tryin to mate
**** u *****
i gotta steak
and some eggs in the kitchen
now grab a plate
and get u some
of this good ole ****
it's nice and thick
just like ur landlord hips
i wanna **** u til i owe no rent
i wanna **** u til my security deposit spent
i wanna give it to u in the leasing office
we'll make an agreement
to tell no one
and when i sign the lease
that's when i *** on ur fleece
baby ur my landlord
now take this 435 dollar **** i spent
and put it towards next months rent
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
I didn't do much today
I just laid around
I thought about cooking breakfast
But didn't
Even though the kitchen is ten feet away
I can't seem to start a fire
Internally or externally
Story of my life
Just laying around
Can't be found
Phone on vibrate
Mouth on mute
Can't function
Brain wont compute
I could be making easy money
Leasing out apartments
But I don't care about the loot
I just hold onto dollars until the eagle grins anyways
Comfort
I prefer sleep over money any day
Its free
And if you get lucky you'll get a movie in your head
So I lay
I lay all day
I lay to the point of decay
Burnt out
Edges frayed
Bed hasn't been made
In weeks
Dismayed, prefaced with failure
Examples set from forefathers
"Drinking away the part of the day I cannot sleep away"
Plays on repeat in my head
Followed by,
"I woke up this morning and I grabbed myself a beer"
I should really fire the DJ in my head
Next up on Shelby FM,
"I'm only sleeping"
In my bed
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Which one's optimistic?
Find him in phrases
That are just as cryptic
As Satan's phases,
Find him stewing
In septic patients,
Incepting flashes
Of dreamy fluid,
Spewing a Druid
Cadence, history
Ripe with cages
Rising,
Built and filled
By single-filed
Homosapiens,
Defiled by aliens
And dumped in
Pools of misery
And mindless failings
In perfect time,
Devising misgivings
And listening for
Censored chimes.
Find me explaining
To a ghost
The passageways of time,
The tunnels a comatose
Mind can dig to confine
Fragile frames
Of ****** bones.
Find a savior
Burning homes
And training Holmes,
Sentimental drivel
Pouring like
Greenland ice melt
Into an ocean
Of violence,
The spittle
Flying from the
Mouths of the smelt,
Hoping their notions
Will achieve timeless
Authority.
Find yourself,
Before your
Lifeless body
Is a gory
Reminder of what
Rotting
Does to the
Smelt esteem.
Find a pacifist
In a police state,
Passing judgements
And choosing who
To hate,
Leasing friendships
And losing weight
And feeling like their
Righteousness
Makes them fake;
Makes their fate seem
All too surreal,
Catacombs full
Of people,
Voicing choices
Between ways to feel.
Find the unfound
And unbound their
Hands, their tongues,
Fill their guts with
Sacrificed lamb, ****
Their haunts with
Spiritual guns,
Toast the rain
And sink their bodies
In beds of flames,
Watch them rise,
And equate the lies
With the actualities
In a cloud of shame.
Find freedom in
Everything.
Find obscurity
Inside a name.
Find anything
That stays the same.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light could the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
Considering me a talented, aspiring shill
My muse loaned me a feathery quill
Brokering her wisdom, leasing her skill
With embroidered frills each barb with beauty did distill
Lithographer's vision, a graceful dividend to reveal
Depreciating vane my artistic license to bill
Hollow shaft gilded so her availing light can the vacuum fill
Inky reservoir with inspiration did instill
A deep well with literary devices did rill
Ideas streaming from strained cavity to the mind's tip with zeal
Burnished hues, sharp tones aesthetic notions to congeal
A precision valve appended vagaries to swill
An automated inkblot defibrillating patterns to spill
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 5:20 PM UTC
This country was built on greed.
All the white men had desires;
Gold, God and Glory their creed.
Sin loves to travel in packs
wrath came next to spill blood.
The Great Spirit received many guests.
Having desires is not a sin.
Sin entered when men were sold
to backbreaking work for another’s gain.
***** blood fueled the Southern Kingdom
greed begot sloth which begot fear
slavery became too valuable to lose.
So in the great American tradition
compromise became the easy way out.
Why fight for 3/5 a person;
instead bounce between slave and free
making all envy the southern wealth
a perfect illusion hiding white poor.
Fast forward to the Postbellum south.
Half the wealth has become man
equality will mean Southern prosperity’s death.
The south needs labor to rebuild
sharecropping and convict leasing slavery’s ********
will help keep the ***** down.
When men become numbers society fails.
Why not work them to death?
Just grab another to lay rails.
Once being black is a crime
it’s simple to justify white pride.
Fear will keep those ******* inline.
So do not blame Big Business
for the destruction they routinely cause.
Save your petitions to our congress
they can’t even touch the monster.
We devour all that we see
but that’s our countries original Sin.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
The
Caffeine crumbles
All my sober realities
All the ******
Sematic
Symbiotic
Claims
We all have
Made
At some
Point
Shaking
Sweaty palms
Leasing time
And hoping
On the reels
Of tape
That hang
From your
VHS
Piling
Ten high
Crawling
All over
The
Fake realities
I've created
It all
Changes
When
The genetics
Leave you
24 hours
Slap you
Sharp into
Place
Right in
The face
That first
Got
You
Here
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
He comes out of his house, off into his ****** limousine,
The pride and glory of American handicraft,
Drives away past his main gate, guarded by a Luhyia national,
The nation from which watchmen are mass manufactured,
The gate is banged closed with a sharp emblem dominating;
tafadahli umbwa kali, please fierce dogs are in don’t dare enter,
when no piece of a dog is in, hen pecking husbands perhaps,
He drives away in low spirit, like the tail of a snake,
Sharply contrasting his tiger thoraxed debates in the parliament,
In defence of state corruption; Anglo leasing and her sisters,
The wife has chased out our state officer, his sole Succor,
of the night and chilly loneliness so nameless ,in the streets of Nairobi,
Is the epiphanous street of koinange, after Mbiu Koinange
The colonial orchestrator of intellectual globalectics,
He sired political immorality that sired social depravement,
To rove his avenues as the state and money capitalist
Convert beautiful daughters of the poor peasants
Into defenseless protégés of class misfortune
Roaming the back streets minus
Any lingerie in their bosoms.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 10:15 AM UTC
We went from “who loves orange soda?” to take a shot for me.
To waiting in lines at the DMV, from waiting in lines at the school dance like “bruh hold my spot for me”
From N64 controllers to leasing a Toyota Corolla
Dealing with these adult life problems we don’t have no control of
From pillow forts to the rents due
From action figures to hopes of six figures
From razor scooters to shaving with razors
From love letters to car notes
crazy right?
The only losses we worried about were argued through Rock Paper Scissors.
Now we worry about losing jobs, material things and on the news daily we lose our brothers and sisters.
The only pain we felt was scraping our knees on the concrete.
Now we scrape change tryna pay the bills hoping that our ends meet.
I wish I could go back, I close my eyez with my memories and feel gratification.
And the thing I miss most of all at that tender age is my imagination
I can’t believe I couldn’t wait to get big
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
I dipped my hands in the volume of an immense love,
once, when time had not yet folded my spine
and it taught me that even kinships born of so little as
a lost word or an early sentiment are written on us,
and in us, and their existence never quite erased.
I have dreamed of being a tiny cutter clearing
the ruined towers peering from your open surf, the ancient arches
easing from the waves. My ship's skeleton leasing
its buoyancy from the mercy of the tide - I became
so much flotsam at that structures' side.
This burning question put to paper hearts,
consumed so hotly tall dreams and false starts.
It ate us up, and left behind it, ash -
the ink left on us, as before it passed.
Commitments so quickly and easily made
burst with the heat of a gentle grenade.
Left in the wasteland, so brittle the fuse -
we burned all the quicker with nothing to lose.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 10:47 AM UTC
Hear me when I cry, O God
of my righteousness, thou
hast enlarged me when I was in
distress, have mercy upon me,
and hear my prayer.
2 O ye sons of men, how long
will ye turn my glory into shame?
how long will ye love vanity, and
seek after leasing? Selah.
3 But know that the Lord hath
set apart him that is godly for
himself: the Lord will hear when I
call unto him.
4 Stand in awe, and sin not:
commune with your own heart
upon your bed, and be still. Selah.
5 Offer the sacrifices of
righteousness and put your trust in
the Lord.
6 There be many that say, Who
will shew us any good? Lord, lift
thou up the light of thy
countenance upon us.
7 Thou hast put gladness in
my heart, more than in the time
that their corn and wine
increased.
8 I will both lay me down in
peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord,
only makest me dwell in safety.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
A fizzle.
A fury.
The rabbit and the hole.
Like puzzle pieces left out in the rain.
Overexposure,
White hot.
Ex-communication leads to excommunication.
This is your brain on drugs.
Intravenous lover,
**** the marrow dry.
White hot.
blistering
Pustules darling!
Transgress,
then offer a pause,
as though we had ever begun to play.
Like a claustrophobic *********
leasing out a shoebox.
I want in for good.
I want out for life.
Lets play hide,
all the seekers are dead.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:53 PM UTC
I will write until
the last words jump to the page
or
my hands grow withered and weary from age.
I will write until
my thoughts turn sour
or
I take the final plunge off some bank's high tower.
I will write until
there's nothing left to find
or
I start leasing the attic of my mind.
I will write until
the Great Salvation comes, to save us from the rapture
or
If it doesn't, and we're left here, I'll keep writing long after.
I will write until
with words, the perfect image do I capture
or
If I can't, I will try until all the bones in my hand are fractured.
I will write until
I have conquered the Hunger
or
If I don't, please feel free to take a knife and slip me under.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 7:41 AM UTC
It has been such a Long time since our last incarnation such like reassembly.
We’ve been scrubbing our United States
and leasing places
as scarification and other humans‘ faces
of stories,
to bless or gargle foreign.
We’ve been to the Neptune’s Fountain to find Young Man Hogan’s bench situated within all those loners’ speedy extroversion,
and catch the Saint Petersburg bell that hitchhiked the church there
to make a glimpse of urbanism and the world’s history replaced
by just one journal
and one fella’s pencil
swerving greatly.
Still,
the words are still trying,
flexing,
to fit their whole ends
into shoes they should have taken off
already, a long time ago,
and that‘s this somewhere
where we could say:
crossroads decide their fruition.
And it comes to realisation:
faces,
screens,
bruises,
droppings,
chilling entries,
work,
how I remade the word “naked”of one thousand and one nights
under my tiny silky
cloak
-
it has been nothing but a play
for the day when I’ll write,
and the Life,
that will take on my own skin
one way or another.
One paper corner will meet with the other.
Departures are all eventually just fun geese’s bump in another flight of a night.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 11:01 AM UTC
And this for, And this is four touching the He A drone old and un-grown the same beat goes unchanged, unknown so old, just eat it to survive and the real test will be in time.
The bathroom never lies whether you look at the bottom or not
the stomach digestion is never forgot.
I will burn for my fetishes as i drive place by as a Passenger Hawthorne Six Wands scary divination a study of sing a king the Unsung hero never learned to believe and Please don't forget How numb the water felt as it convalesced As a Serenity home farmed eons living longer than the leviathan can be beached.
When did Men learn to think, Oh once in a while i randomly stumble upon a little humble bubble before i burst in reason to feel the besseched treason of an exodus of paradise ending as a leasing agreement betewen the understanding of inside-outside upside-down bear in steam bears the whole release of an existential equation, a tranquil season the drop of weather beat to the endless feeling of orange leaving to say hello to sticks and pine needles I had an idea that you and i sing to each other every time the forest sleeps that the core of the Sun I Am is fused together in a fissure, and i am the monster with the lowest attack.
Not power, not Strength, just a tack on the wall within the sake of arriving with you, I can make this into everything a transcendental feeling an incredible leeching bloodless as a long spear on a chariot pulling the Reins of the Morning rooster's triumphant call to start the shaving of darkness from the last drop of dusk echoing across the Sabbath. I no longer want o jeopardize the love rather I readily swear to keep the hope that the perpetual yellow Sun has promised us, Forever, thank you
the Christened Kris of Hoarse Illusion
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
“Nature wins eventually,” mused my uncle David
as we drove past an overgrown lot
on a barren street, where a struggling Motel 6
had long crumbled under the weight of entropy.
Defying the ghosts of a business
drowned in the unforgiving current
of Dayton’s economy, among
the leasing sign marking their graves,
patternless flora prevailed
effortlessly.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Seeing your face
Lips soft and brown.
When I see them
I've found a place I want to be.
A place I want to belong.
When I stare at them
I instantly hear your voice & I melt.
The pound of my heart intensifies.
Almost beating though my chest.
Anxious in desire.
A knock that signifies that I've thought about you.
Another knock that anxiously awaits you to open the door.
An invitation issued by passing eyes.
Glances that have kissed you a thousand times over.
To be the chapstick that shines when you reach in your pocket.
A desert in search of oasis,
To be the next phrase that slips through.
Unmarked by pause.
The thought of our eyes closed
Uninterrupted.
The thought of a kiss that leads to packing everything I own.
Moving to the closest part of your face.
With lips soft and brown.
My heart steadily pounds.
Stopping at the leasing office.
Everything I own packed
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 2:33 AM UTC
Hark! What a feeling!
For thou hath introduced
Free from burden
Guilt misting into nether
Bray out!
But softly, this feeling is dateless
No more drops of sorrow and woe
From whence we came
New beginnings arise
Dost thou wish to come with me?
Hast thou the courage to push through?
I gage to thee new feelings of old
Grace for grace
Nevermore any gull
Nevermore leasing or palter
I am at your hip
I am receiving of thee
Alas the day hath come
For better feelings and truth
From now onto the perpetual wink.
I am yours
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 4:24 PM UTC
Love this
Love that
Lots of poems about broken hearts
They are beautiful,
But I can't relate
Never have I given my heart to someone who would give it back
Always cautious
Always waiting
But now I'm doubting
Where are you O love of mine?
Perhaps lost in the middle of the sea?
Riding a camel across an inescapable dessert?
Are you waiting for me too?
Cause I have been waiting for you.
What are you doing at the moment?
What do you regret?
Are you as lost as me?
Or are you waiting for me to catch up?
I think of you often.
Do you think of me?
Someone with no face or name, but who still exists.
I dream of you
The faces change but you are always warm,
Always there.
Loving the parts of me that need love,
And embracing the parts that are living life
I don't want to be another novel
The ones about two broken people that find each other
Because that's not love
Its close, but not the same
Like a puzzle I want to fit with you.
Perfect for each other,
Filling up the empty spaces.
When I'm scared you'll comfort me,
And when your down I'll lift you up
Until then I will wait
And I'll wait
And I'll wait
Because waiting will be worth it
Will be worth YOU
So instead of leasing my time out to someone who will waste it,
Instead of picking up the shattered pieces of my soul,
I will save my unscarred heart for the one who sees forever in me
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
"We're the only loners here."
A surety, once he inquired.
"You're wrong, though they may not of come...
we are the survivors"
Wisdom within consistency
Word outside of scripture.
Leasing still though blasphemous
Count it. File. Date the picture.
The benefits of not believing
in more than human will
is strength in resolve
for lack of option
Pushing on: no cutting deals.
Imagined dates cut off.
A story to be sealed.
A place to rest, a bench downtown.
Hope discovered in a beggar.
As I give that which means little,
I wonder who has more business here.
As the smiles fade, the invites cease.
Glimpses pass pressed judgement.
The decision becomes clearer.
in this life I've sought a bang,
fore my pain is but a whisper.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
at night
when everything of me is exposed
I fumble with my hands,
not sure where to
misplace them
and as it comes to bother me
in a real sort of way-
I slip them on the underside of my pillow
leasing the heavy weight my cheek has to bear
onto the clasped binds of my
mis-script prayers.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC