"raybans" poems
#
*The killer
came crashing down
smashing, thrashing through.
What is tender's tender
so for itself, to do?
--As it runs
right over the top of her..
This taker.
This killer.
In the black,
now in between;
so lightless and thick..
blotting out all screams.
There is an annihilation here.
A void.
A terror.
To stay, means certain death
but to leave
also means certain death
So the d is m e m b e r men t begins
as she is ripped, completely into half
And those halves, into half..
.. into half
--into half..
into half.
And still it tears.. rips.. shreds--
Until all, in between
is nothing but black.
A black it can now pretend to fill
with all of its empty promises..
and all of its counterfeit, everything.
..And then-- just up and leaves
once it is fully satiated.*
***And for a while..
the black had something.***
*Clinging to the rocky crags
on either side of the unlit valley
are now the pieces of her--
war-torn and shuddering.
Terrified
Of the black, black empty.
Of what is now fully
and completely dark.
~ ~ ~ ~
Timmy ain't real tall
but look at his stature,
as his majestic strings dialogue
the introduction.
And Warren's gotten so fat
See him now, looking so dearly, back
at his half-pint of Chunky Monkey--
picking it back up, for the fourth time..
scraping... scraping.. scraping..
But watch his eyes light up
as Timmy looks up--
over the top
of those wild-man RayBans
And with a gentle nod, it all begins..
-- as our Warren now digs deep
into his Gibson's beautifully-wanton ways..
identifying.
clarifying.
Rectifying.
Clarence, the Magician..
Stephan-- Humble, Unparalleled
And Dave's so chill
he's part Creole.. I just know it.
So great a cloud of witness:
surrounding you, my beautiful..
coaxing you.
Identifying it all for you.*
#
Mar 10, 2022
Mar 10, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
Cool kid euphoria with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on is what we all are in the basement of the 50’s house.
Our phones blowing up while we sip whiskey and wine.
Trying to get the attention of the cars on the main road
By handstanding and flashing and cheersing our beers
And we receive our victorious honks.
Guitar clock radio with numbers around the fretboard and Sir Paul smiling and crooked, acid-trippin’ guitarist/violinist/celloist looking product of orange and gold look down upon as our patron saints.
Swingin’ low, Sweet Chariot words stares up at me from the 70’s floral carpet.
Ralph Stanley and Eric Clapton singing solos and duets in my head keep me company as the boys play and figure out key changes.
Painted screen hiding the Etta James microphone stands forgotten in the corner—
As I take in the teals and roses and golds.
Give me a heart shaped box where I can store my love
I fly so high in the world above
I’ll come back down eventually.
Lava lamped water stain engulfs the ceiling. As fingers go up frets
And they go down frets
And they go up frets
And they go down frets.
As you don’t enunciate when you sing.
We all mourn our fallen brethren, the base of the telecaster with no strings and no head and it weeps silently from its place on the water pipes, hearing his cousins WAAAIIIIILLLLLL.
As Cool kid euphoria is created with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on in the basement of the 50’s house.
We work all day so we can drink all night
Getting high off the drug that is each other
Chain-smoking Pall Malls like it’s our job
Listening to oldies as we shoot the eight ball in the corner pocket.
Garden tools and Lawn Mower parts as a sweet, creepy décor in the dank basement
As we breathe in mold and dust and cigarette smoke.
We are gloriously young.
So **** off.
We still think we can change the world.
Not through politics or through fear or by means of war
But by doing just enough to get by and loving everybody for who they are, even the parts or religions or particular ways of life we don’t like,
Because people aren’t what they do or what they believe
They’re who they are.
We still think we can change the world
And Maybe one day, we will
But for now
We’ll just be here,
In the basement of the 50’s house with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
Dog days fly dust to dust over a hick
pit sardined between corona bikinis that house
the unmistakable stench of lukewarm apple
sauce in the c-cup padding and toothless
******** sitting indian style. Graveled friction
fading the back pockets of their overall
dungarees. Amongst them a settler on their native
turf accepting a Jim Beam peace pipe while above
the influence commercials march in protest claiming fried
egg consequences from engaging in the act. The culture
shock is worth the weekly once-in-a-lifetime chance
to sip the tabasco-glazed opening of my chemistry
teacher’s flask while he schools me in perfecting
the cotton eyed joe. A muffler spontaneously
combusts, melting the raybans off the face of a tragically
hip spectator taunted with “that’s why dad named you Joe Dirt.”
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:44 PM UTC
It was a Sunday afternoon when I
went for an impromptu drive,
keeping my foot on the gas and snaking
among the one-ways and the
downtown traffic as I
made my way to the river.
I put the heat on
ever so slightly just so
I'd be warm enough to roll
the windows down and feel that
fresh spring air on my face.
I wore my retro hat backwards,
and my Raybans covered my eyes,
my cool demeanor and slouchy posture
in sync with the steady rhythm of the
90s hip hop booming through my
speakers.
I watched the sun as it made love to
the river's chop, and
I snuck a glance at the stolen kisses
the green grass shared with the
tall trees on the shoreline.
Beautiful yellow and purple buds
splattered the bushes like
Impressionism,
thick dabs of color that all blended
into a beautifully disorganized
vision of the season of
rebirth.
I sprouted wings and flew outside
my body as I inhaled
pollens and flower nectar,
as my skin reddened under the
bright sunlight,
my self got lost in the time and space
continuum that swallowed me
like ground swallowed up the last
traces of snow, replacing my ground
with the warmth and
rebirth that spring always brings
after a long winter.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
14 April 2014
On quiet mornings like this
The fog withdraws b'fore the dogs brawl
The shroud of despair covers me
Like last night's cold sheet
All over us, like some unseen wall
Wherein we cannot hear each other
You don’t talk to me–
You no longer do.
I wish, I would know why
I wish, you would say somethin'
I miss you, like that—
The sun, exploding b’fore
Raybans and endless blue sky
At sunflower fields where
We play hide ‘n’ seek
You flash a smile at me,
Like how the sunflowers—
Follow the sun
All through the day
‘til it got away.
I was just a wayfarin' stranger,
B’fore I was your summer love.
I was out of your plans,
You didn’t see me comin'.
I was not part of the symmetry—
The Fibonacci sequence
That runs in your blood
In your hair, in your skin,
In your heart.
I am just a distraction—
In the morning, you will see
The light, guidin' you
Some orbit, holdin' you in place
'til you complete a cycle
Of your seasonal journey;
Prized seeds of youthful aspirations
You will wilt, soon enough
And close your eyes
After the crows devour
On your dreams—
Nightmares that fed,
On exotic seeds.
But I am here, guardin’ you
Will scare them ‘til they—
Fly away ‘n’ never come back,
Like this once summer
We all ever have.
For our love ‘n’ happiness
Only grown in sunflower fields
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
Take me back.
Take me back to a place I've never been before, back to when I wasn't even thought of yet.
Take me to a really big high school where no one gives a **** but everyone manages to pass.
People smoke in the bathroom while touching up their red lipstick, with their RayBans on.
The Richies' get drunk, while the regulars get sad. And the geeks just want in.
Take me back to the place that played dramatic music when I faced a problem, or maybe high-energy music when the guy I like and I share a quick glance. Then, small talk looms overhead.
Take me back to cool cars and clever outfits.
I want witty remarks from the girl who makes her own ensembles, and I want her to bit her lip, flustered.
Please, someone, anyone take me back.
Take me back to the 80s.
~~a.s.f.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
Florida,
You raised us in South.
With a palm tree mentality,
I can't find paradise.
In this heat I feel paralyzed,
Returned on a plane from the mid west,
thought I was doing what I knew best.
The UV rays ****** with my head, creating a false oasis.
The only rays they tell you to **** with are those called Raybans, so we can look like the rest of us.
Suggested tan like the rest of us.
Skin damaged like the rest of us.
Drink martinis like the rest of us.
Sometimes I feel like tour brochures got the best of us.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Everybody's heard about those rose-colored glasses
the ones that make the world look sweet.
If I had to choose between roses and RayBans,
the roses would win in a heartbeat.
Whatever you look for is what you will find:
cold and dark or sunny and bright.
I'll take the rose lenses every time,
to see my world full of light..
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
It ain't fun if I don't get my lick back,
Please do not chit chat or you can get laced like a plug.
Tell your new boy that I'm with that
Raybans be tinted, 94' civic of couurrrrrseeee!
ZARA FINE LINING YOU NOTICE ME YEA?!
DIAMONDS SINGING ON ME LIKE THEY JODECI YEAAAA!!
it to much to say can't you beg,
Get on your knees or come taste all my lead,
Or you can bounce like a bad paper check.
I'm in the H what you wanna do....babe...
I flip a taxi then hop in mer...cedezzz
Feb 17, 2025
Feb 17, 2025 at 4:35 AM UTC