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Brad Lambert Oct 2013
(I)

Whose coat is this? Sure as hell isn't my coat. I ain't got no coat with this parka ****, it's *******. I ain't no furry flamin' ******. I ain't no ****** chochy Molly-May-Ze-**** chokin' down chickens and nasalin' a'sniffin' snortin' nasty-*** choch; that ain't me. That ain't me. Look at this coat– I'm like an Eskimo *****. I'm like a butch-**** bull-**** crotch-lappin' a'swimmin' laps in that guy's swimmin' pool. Who's that guy? Who owns that guy? 'Ey, anyone here the owner of this guy– guy ain't got no owner? Whose coat is this? It's nice, real nice. Bet she said, "Does it come from France? Where do I buy one?" I want to buy one, I think I need to buy **** more. I sure as hell need to buy one of these. "And I need one these too and one of them too and I need a petticoat and a tipper-tapper and a whimpratic garfielder and one of them new bartlemores, I need more of them bartlemores. I need more, more, more, more, more, more..." That ain't enough. ****'s from France. ****'s from Paris, that's romantic. You think I'm romantic? I eat hearts for dinner, I chew down nails like nuts for my midnight snack. I smoke cigarettes and spit on concrete slabs, you think that's ****? I'll show you ****. I'll show you Paris, New York City, Rome, romance you in Rome. I'll get real ******' Roman. I'll take you to the desert and make love to you. That's how a free man does a woman, and I'm a real free man. Who's ownin' this guy? It ain't you, it ain't me. I don't own you, you don't own me. I'm a free man:

I said,
"Fire and wood, fire and wood, fire and wood. It is late, it is late, it is far, far too late."

I set
fire to wood, fire to wood; feel that fire fired fresh from that firewood.

I dug the pit,
he gathered the wood,
she started the fire.

She really does make that fire start.

O' how she makes that fire burn,
O' how the wood's wrapped in white hots,
O' how they smoke their smokestacked pipes,
O' tobacco teeming teenagers, tormented by and through youth,
O' adolescence, trending topics, and forget-me-not flowers,
O' old age, Floridan coffins, and coughing  cancers,
O' writers in the mountains writing to be,
O' painters and **** bodies in studies by the sea,
O' thinkers in their mindset, mindsetting the table for dinner,
O' tables set to bursting,
O' wallets so thick,
O' community,
O' society, our social games,
O' hope,
O' peace,
O' that I may be at peace,
O' that I may be content and pray only for peace,
O' how about them true believers,
O' how about that love at first sight,
O' sandstone. My sandstone. That guy sittin' on sandstone.

That's my guy. That's my guy. I own this ****.

Is a man breathing on a mirror the sum of his breaths?
Breaths foggin' a'mistin' my view,
my view of a body and that face,
you're a body.
You're a workin' day's bell,
you're my chill in an Icelandic draft,
you're my spare in a Middle Eastern draft,
you're my pawn in chest-to-chest chess.

You've got this. You've got this. You own this ****.

And it is ****, too. I'd be set, real ******' set, with someone like you. I'll make you a woman, check this parka ****. Coat's mine. I'm a classy igloo runner, runnin' a'ragin' a'czebelskiin' meriteratin', I'll be reiteratin' your points. Check the time, it's late! It's late! ***** was in the grassy knoll turnin' trap tunes on her turntable. Would you listen to that? She sounds late to me, does she sound late to you? I like the music; I like the music. What happened to Woodstock? Where's my watergate, Nixon? Where's my generation, Ginsberg? Where's the meaning? This music's too loud! We're so profound! O' profundity!

Tell me something I didn't know, I'm craving' the new.
Give me the new while I spit on the old,
while I spit on this fine art finely art'd by and for fine artists–
******' fine artists. ******* fine artists.

(You can realize radical-realist realism but you can't be real with me?)

O' fine art!
What fine art!
Which fine artists are dead?



(II)

Looks like they're dead.

Looks like them ******* choked out all them ghettos, choked out all them rednecks, chokin' a'stranglin' by-God-oh-God straddlin' the breeders. I sure did like them babes– babes with their laughin' a'lackin' o' cynicism. They don't know the word "****."

I sure am forgetful–
I forgot that smoke doesn't dissipate,
I forgot how to smell autumn leaves,
I forgot to check the heart against the fingertips,
I forgot why my fingertips went numb,
I forgot to cue in the meaning when the sentence was complete,
I forget to complete my sentences,
I forget who you were wanting when you said, "I want you."

I got as much depth as an in-depth discussion, high hats and electropercussion have got me going. I'm goin' downtown, uptown bourgeois tricked me out, johns and yellow Hummers laid me down and cussed me out. That's not a discussion. That's not my scent scenting my towel, this breath reeks of wintry air– my fingertips went numb.

"I want you."

"Oh would you look at that moon?
Take a look at that moon.
Look at that moon with the ******' mountains.
I love that moon.
That's my moon."

I love darin' a'dusty dareelin' derailin' your dreams, whose dreams are these? They ain't my dreams– ain't no dream derailin' a'nileerad radiatiatin' some hint of joy or Jamison Scotch Liqueur. Drink that ****. That's my ****, I own that ****.
I'm sittin' on this stoop like I own this ****, like this **** owns me; I owed me. I don't own me, you owe me:

Pay up man, feet off the stoop.
Pay up man, be real with me.
Pay up man, you ever thought of a man as a man?
Pay up man, give it in.
Pay up man, give in.
Pay up man, I need you to do me a solid. Do me solid from crown-to-toe, we're toe-to-toe let's do-si-do bro-to-** I'm ready go, **, jo, ko, lo, get low… Now I'm ramblin'. You say, "Ramble in to the stoop and tell me a story."

What's a stoop– who's a stoop? That **** ain't stoop– you ain't stoop. You're stupid. You're a joke, check out the joke. Hey ladies, you seen this joke– joke ain't been seen by them ladies? I'm a joke. We ain't laughin' with you, they're laughin' at you.

O' hilarity!
Such hilarity!
What hilarious histories have passed?



(III)*

"I said I loved him once. I only loved him once."
(
And how long once has been...)

I sure did like them hand-holdins,
them star-gazin' moments,
them moon phasin' nighttime nuances,
them fingertip feelin' a'findin',
them sessions o'meshin' limber legs unto steadfast *****,
heads cocked like guns toward the sky,
beyond the horizon
but well
below the belt.

Them star-gazing moments seeing stars seemin' small, I love how they gleam- gleamin' a'glarin' comparin' shine to shine, shimmerin' a glimmer shone stumblin' her way home from the bar. She's drunk. She's brilliant, brilliance of whit and wantin' a'wanderlustin' gypsy nomads- that ***** gyp'd me, no mad man would take a cerebral slam to the face lest them moving pictures are involved. Read a ******' book, it'll last longer. Kiss me on the collar bones, clavicles shone shining with slick saliva pining for my affections. You're clammerin' to feel me, clammin' up (Just feel me.) I want to run my hands through long hair and peg the nausea nervosa to the wall. The writing's on the wall:

The sun bent over so the moon could rise, chanting,
"Goodbye and good riddance,
I never wanted to shine down
on them seas o' tranquilities anyhow."*

O' what a day. What a day.

And the wind ruffles leaves and it ruffles feathers on birds eating worms in brown soil.

What a day. What a day.

And the men under the bridge gather in traitorous conversation of governments overthrown and border dissolution and poetry with meters bent out of tune.

What a day. What a day.

And the billboards are dry for all the consumers to consume, use, and review.

What a day. What a day.

And hearts break messiest when you're not looking.

What a day. What a day.

And the ego and the id and the redwood trees are talking. They're sitting **** in the marshes, bathing in the bogwater while fondling foreign fine wines and whisperin' a'veerin' conversations towards topics kept well out of hand, out of the game, nontobe racin' in races, rampant radical racists betting bets on bent, bald Bolshevik racists wagging Marxist manifestos in the bourgeois' faces, yes. Make it be. Nontobe sanity as the captain creases his pleats, pleasin' her creases and the dewdrops of sweat trailing down the small of her back– down the ridge of her spine forming solitary springs of saline saltwater in the small of her back. Aye-aye, guy's pleasin' a'makin' choices a'steerin'– government's a'veerin' a hard left into the ice.

'Berg! 'Berg!
Danger in the icy 'berg!
None too soon a 'berg!
Bound to bump a 'berg!
O' inevitably unnerving 'berg!
Authoritative 'berg!
Totalitarian 'berg!
Surveillance of *** and the sexes 'berg!
O' fatalist fetishist 'berg!
Benevolent big brother 'berg!
Homosocial socialization 'berg!
Romanticized Roman 'berg!
O' virginal mother 'berg!
City on a hill on a 'berg!
Subtly socialist 'berg!
Nongovernmental 'berg!
O' illustrious libertine 'berg!
Freedom of the people 'berg!
Water privatization 'berg!
Alcohol idolization 'berg!
O' corrupt and courageous 'berg!
Church and a stately 'berg!
Pray to your ceiling fan 'berg!
Biblically borne 'berg!
O' godly and gorgeous 'berg!
Ferocious freedom fighters launching lackluster demonstrations far too post-demonstration feeling liberty and love, la vie en rouge, revolving revolutionist ranting on revolution tangible as
an ice cold 'berg.

'Berg! 'Berg!
O' the 'berg, the ****** iceberg–
You'll be the death of me.
heather york Aug 2014
What I've been seeing in this world sparks a fire inside me
While I comfort this mother right here beside me

What she thought was a love wasn't taken seriously
It was evil, vindictive, like a bad conspiracy

She's always blown off, spending her nights alone
Mind in a million different places, constantly waiting by the phone

So she gets tired of always being disrespected
But instead of just a seperation, the child gets neglected

While she's always gotta worry about enough money coming in
You seem to always have the time to find a new girlfriend

Day in and day out they struggle to eat
Yet you always stay fresh with new J's on your feet

You're the first one to "turn up" runnin' round yellin' YOLO
While you're ownin' that strut in your Ralph Lauren Polo

Nothing ever seems to be enough, no matter how hard she tries
She keeps a poker face, but alone she still cries

Your checks go to bar tabs and dinner dates with your new fling
But in the grocery store she pinches pennies hoping she has enough for everything

His first experience in a sport, he feels important with his name on his back
He looks so handsome in that uniform, new cleats and matching hat

He's not upset that they lost, or that when he'd swing he'd only miss
The only thing on his mind is where his dad is

She never imagined it would be this hard to get by
She still pleads with you to be involved, but It's a never ending lie

The same child that you so easily show abuse to
Strives for what his classmates are so used to

If you're not living for your child, what do you live for?
Time invested means more than your finances, for the rich or for the poor

And this isn't just aimed toward dead beat dads, because some women do it too
To the same child they so preciously carried in their womb

A sad excuse for a parent is all one in the same
If you can walk away from what you created with no shame

Instead of sitting back waisting time being so judgemental
Be productive, stop twerkin, do somethin' fundamental

A child will be affected from a mom or a dad
Tell your excuses to one who miscarries, and loses something they never had

I wonder if you'll ever fully realize what you're missing in life
For precious moments like these you can't get twice

The sad reality is my father took a bullet to the chest
And didn't have the chance that you do to have the time you could invest

"For this child I have prayed"...That's what you'll read in the scripture
They're a blessing, not a trophy for your Instagram picture
Tyler James Cook May 2014
Breathing Seed                           If I was here

Sprouting acres                          If I was Worldly Deed                             If ISetting Tracers                          IfShouting Chords                       IClanging Mashing                     ExistedWitching Hour                           Would you be hereTidal Power                               Would you beMicrophonic                              Would youHibernating the meaning           WouldSweeping away hopes                The world standWhen faces light                        Stand on it's ownIn dawning moon                      Shoulders Eclipse tune                              Would the skyAnd anamnesis swoons             Fall as pieces ofSupple tower                             Puzzles onto theRiddled hands                           Floor, anxietyOf lovers on frosted steam        Swims currentsEmpire grounded down to wire  Through theSpiral Staircase                           Myth that isRounds chambers                       Me and youOf mindful states                        And all ofStable gates                                Us we are lostRelease all fate                            In the earth
dennis drain Nov 2016
Yea.... Look......
.                        I'm back at home,
Same town I made myself known, grown to be stiff as stone learned my lessons and paid the dues I owe.
Been outta town since that **** went went down and I got taken Down town
Stayed down for 2and a half got up and found myself in a rich ***** mountain spot
Didn't even try and every ***** thought I was hot
every eye I cought thought  they was gonna get shot
Met my girl and brought her home
J-town im back an  packin fists of stone
Since last time iv grown
Instill fear with every look I give  now I don't gotta pull a knife to look like I will
Now I just look like I did and wont hesitate to
Make the point that I ain't a kid and i don't give ****.
Smoke my dope and puff my **** to keep me from goin crazy no sleep for a week an I
Ride alone without a crew to back me up and I still got a bandana round my neck,
Knife on my hip sharp as ****  pull it quick an
Stick it deep In between yo ribs fo talkin **** its to quiet where I used to live.
I've missed my home just for the hifey **** I did
I'm back,  ready to do work again an
I'll do me and do work when I see a scrap walkin this earth I yearn to put there lifes to an end.



I'm home, fully grown and feared by most.
Left a quiet place to come back to a place I know.
Won't take long before I'm runnin this town from home
One talent I got
ownin every street I Rome
I'm a business man
I ride north side
And i walk like a boss cuz I got pride
I'm good at bein in charge makin yo business mine
Take no mercy have no fear keep your four fingers high and ride till I die
That's how I've always survived
100% fast life dark side livin
Now I'm home and gettin ready for business.
Qualyxian Quest Mar 2020
Freedom. Oh, freedom.
The Americans proclaim

An Empire of Liberty
Is their truest aim

Sorry, Mr. Jefferson
I do not agree

Destroying other people
Is no way to be free

I have walked the Mall at night
Seen the Wizards in D.C.

George Mason was a wiser man
Than you could ever be

So I leave you in your monument
Walk to the National Gallery

Stare at The Last Supper
Ah! Muy bien Salvador Dali!

— The End —