"rebuttal" poems
From the BBC today,
Excerpt
Why does Taylor Swift write so many one-note melodies?
"It's easy to get distracted by her celebrity, but Taylor Swift is a once-in-a-generation songwriter. From the very beginning, she's displayed a knack for melody and storytelling that most artists never master.
Take, for example, her first US number one, OUR SONG
Written for a high school talent show, it's a fairly typical tale of teenage romance until the final lines: "I grabbed a pen / And an old napkin / And I wrote down our song."
That's smart, self-assured songwriting for someone who wasn't old enough to vote. Notably, the lyrics insert the musician directly into the narrative - something she developed into a tried and tested trope.
But Our Song also establishes another of Taylor's trademarks: The one-note melody.
Excerpt
Repetitive melodies that centre around a single note are part of that appeal. They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech.
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
"They emphasise her relatability by mimicking the cadence of speech."
Rebuttal
Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics. They can relate to your song but if they cannot sing it themselves putting themselves in the 'first-person perspective narrative' they cannot feel as-if they have BECOME the artist and are living that moment as they remember it. Taylor Swift sings about teenage love and angst something EVERYONE ON EARTH understands.
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG.
Cadences are singing statements that confer a discipline and unity.
Song acts as a catharsis. The artist shares their pain in a way that is universally understood. If you want to sell a rock, literally a pebble, you will not sell it if it doesn't look like a rock. If it doesn't do what rocks do. If it is not what people remember a rock to be like. Nor will it sell if it is just like every other rock they have ever seen. It cannot convey an emotion unless it elicits emotion.
One cannot even begin to feel emotional if one cannot remember easily the past and that includes lyrics one has heard that evoked said emotional state.
It is horrifying to see HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS that rhyme be obliterated in exchange for an intellectual or individual perspective NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE.
If you want to sell and make money you better start thinking about the 99% of people who are not geniuses.
If your sole goal in life is to attract a genius to give you a great job because of how, "smart," they perceive you to be then fine.
You are not an artist.
You are an employee.
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
"Rhyme sells because the people you are selling too can remember your lyrics."
Thrice Times Great. ⁻ᴴᵉʳᵐᵉˢ
BECOME
EVERYONE ON EARTH
ALL POETRY BEGAN AS RHYME IN SONG
HOW BADLY EVERYONE INSISTS
NOT SHARED BY THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE
HOW BAD
artist?
or employee?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
The snow leopard and the little fox were sound asleep. The leopard curled up around the young fox keeping them both warm in the cold weather. As the sun started to arise the leopard awoke from his slumber. He then softly pat his little young fox apprentice's head, "Wake up little one. A new day awaits us," he said with a smile as he stood on all fours and stretched out his back. The little fox grunted and yawned "It's too early," she whined as she curled up tighter, "The sun isn't even fully up in the sky yet" was her rebuttal to his awakening. The leopard took her by the scruff and softly tossed her into the snow covered field. "Ahhh!~Ooof." The little fox yelled as she tumbled into the snow. "You know what they say, the early bird catches the worm, the early cat catches the bird." The leopard laughed slightly as he spoke, watching the little fox stand up all covered in fresh snow from last nights fall. "Well what's that have to do with me?!?" the fox shouted slightly, being slightly agitated about him tossing her. The leopard smirked as he walked by her and pat her head again, dusting off the snow, "It has everything to do with you, it has everything to do with everyone. It means the sooner you wake the more you can do. The more time you have in the day to do what you want," the leopard exclaimed with pride and excitement in his voice, "Do you ever ask yourself why there is so much left you want to do by the end of the day but just didn't have enough time? Well this helps you get more done. It gives you more time." The little fox tilted her head slightly to he side and looked down a bit, "I guess you are right," she said softly. Not knowing what else to say, she stood up and shook the snow off of herself then rush over to the leopard. "So what lesson will I learn today?" she asked eagerly. The leopard smiled as they started walking, "Didn't you just learn something?" he said as he raised an eyebrow. The little fox giggled softly and started pouncing around him laughing happily and saying "Well yea. But I want to learn more." The leopard laughed and looked to her, "Slow and steady wins the race little one. Slow and steady. we will find something for me to teach you, or for us to learn, as time goes on." he said softly but wisely as they kept walking into the woods, away from the sunrise.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
They were the knotted extensions of her soul.
They showed how she twisted the truth
right out the lies she had been told.
Since birth people tried to typecast her role.
Marry a man
Have some babies
Grow old
Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe;
sugar, spice and everything nice. She was
dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude.
Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her
had been stripped and ******* So the only
thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips,
nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear",
Her mother had said for years. And she did
until the day she told her parents she was
a different kind of queer. Then,the tears.
Somewhere between her mother's damnations,
her father's belligerence and her usual
rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest
in her hair. Those long, straight strands were
nothing like her. The red reflected
her parents rejection. In that moment.
There was clarity in the contorted
version of love she had to incur.
She decided the only expectations
to accept were hers. And just like that
the barrier between her and the world cracked.
She decided to dread her hair and dye it black.
As the years went by, her parents learned
to accept their daughter. And in return
each year she would send them a photo
showing how her hair had gotten longer.
She also added trinkets to the locks and let
the strawberry color grow back.
Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself
no matter what the world wants her to be
the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
Tunneling thoughts like rain
Craning through light clouds
Unsuspecting victims.
The fear
The tears
The temper tantrums;
A kind of rebuttal
That won't let our feet find land
We adjourned to rehearse,
but our efforts were null and void
Only to appease with flames
that licked our shriveled bodies
D r
i p
p i n
g
Kerosene
Tainted like ink Spilled on
Reams of paper
ruined like Christmas
A house warmed by Open flames
fallen candles Adorning
A naked kitchen My limp body,
Splayed beneath the oven
As
darkness indulges, It
consumes
The smoke, Fills
Each crevice
In your mind
Can you ever fight it
Burn your way back
To blissful ignorance.
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 1:59 PM UTC
A quintessential detrimental light to the dark,
Its essential for potential blooming in our hearts,
Fitting puzzles is no trouble if we do our part,
We can struggle and rebuttal if we only start,
Work together towards the better having piece of mind,
Cut the tether love the weather peace is all we find,
Forget the clock just never stop there's no such thing as time,
Dodge road blocks pull up your socks and just watch for signs.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
You laugh at my jokes and blush as I tease
You drive me insane and I swear you’re flirting with me
Please reply
I’ve thought this for a while
So I decided to say
I like you a lot, but I know you don’t feel the same way
Please reply
You’re straight and I know I can’t change that.
Am I just telling myself what I want to hear,
Is it true that those intertwined hand holds were anything but queer
Please reply
They fit like puzzle pieces and I swear when we pull away..
Its like they don’t want to let go, they just want to stay
And oh how I wish they could.
Please reply
They depart slowly and I can still feel the heat
Sadly not the warmth from your rosy red cheeks
Please reply
Is it true that when we locked eyes, blushed and chuckled,
It was nothing, simply a friend, your bright eyes rebuttal
Please reply
Is it true that my heart beat shouldn’t have increased and my face shouldn’t have turned red
Is it true I shouldn’t be lying here writing about you alone in my bed
Or at all
Please reply
please reply
Please
Just
Reply
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
Barely Walks.
And does not sleep
day squinting
night in trance;
Moonblinked
& Anomie doesn’t speak
What she thinks
Until she drink
Apart; life projector spreads in sheets
Anomie not loveable
so off she goes
with dogs in sheets
that bark and bones
& in the padded womb
zaps milky-Light
synthetic-filtered-bright
A spotlight for the bees
Getting Drunk between her Knees
Confusion explodes confetti
disorientation takes the plow
*** the only how
An ****** or a fake hopeless meow
She lives in mental corners
watching window borders
They push in; she falls out
Brand new day
Teeth on pillows crack
Anomie's mind
has to react
She's fast to split-
Spit out a rebuttal
method witty-tactix kit
No one tells her time to go
But when Bee's belly full
She-goes - Self-loathes
Morning Glories still shriveled in their pods
They own the glory of her story and her song
Hiding in sarcastic retreat for clean feet
under ***** water bathes
wipes off the meat
Not your friend
She's trouble to love
The dirtiest dove
Anomie is naked and she's hated
Take away the curtain glove
eye slit under sunlit
She recovers
Don't judge
it's all her love
but you ****** Anomie anyways
just because
The Thrill
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
The world is too big
And I, too small
So I rely on my God
To understand it all
My mind can't seem to comprehend
the things that aim, the world to end
or bring the knees of an African to bend
or millions of jews to the fire send
my neurons a gatling gun , my eyes ascend
my fist I raise, with the heavens contend
God I trust you, all good all powerful, but me You won't defend?
Am i a fool to love you till my end?
I can't understand it all,
all this hate, to a bullet or a noose will I fall?
but still instinctually all I do is call
Call on a good God
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 12:57 PM UTC
I see it
It's on their faces
All of 'em
This shadow
Like some sort of indifference
Built out of hurt and pain and loneliness
Like they're so tired of fighting that they just gave up
"This is reality" they say
Yea, I see it
Don't think you can fool me
And there's a lot I could say
You know, to them, to myself, or to God
A lot of words that attempt to heal
A lot of prayers that attempt to reveal
A lot of...wrestling...that attempts to understand the brokenness of our condition and how God fits into all of it
But lately I've only been able to think of one thing
One single question that wells up inside whenever I begin to feel overwhelmed by the comprehension of the depth to which you have sunk your teeth
How dare you?
I see her
She's laying it all before me
Her heart
Her emotions
All her past
All her brokenness
Her father who used to chase her all over the house
Call her all sorts of horrible names
Totally RUINING her sense of self worth!
And now, she doesn't know what to believe or what to say or how to say it or what to pray or what to do or what to choose or how to love or when to love or if to love at all and all I can say is
How dare you?
Are you not aware?
And I see him
He's caught up in himself
So misguided by the failures of those involved in his life that he built a wall TEN MILES THICK around his heart, locked it, swallowed the key and never looked back cuz he's so **** sure there's nothin' left to see and all I can say is
How dare you?
Do you not know?
Oh and I see him
Sitting right across from me all full of lies and blasphemy
The things he says only ever amounting to full blown hypocrisy
I see him
So full of anger, hatred and hurt that I don't even know where to begin
The web is so thick it's BLACK
And you say it's hopeless, and I feel helpless, and all I can say is
How dare you?
Can you not see?
Oh, and I FEEL it!
That voice!
Insipid and subtle
So confident and slithering and leaving no room for rebuttal
Give UP it says
You're not capable and they're not worth it!
Your faith is invalid cuz it contradicts all the others
Your heart is too filthy and your soul is too shredded!
You're gonna fail! Because you always fail you failing, miserable failure!
And all I can say is
How dare you?
Do you not know?
Can you not see?
Are you not aware?
Get to tremblin', beast.
For we are the children of the living God.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
Everything has become so irrelevant.
I'm searching for an explanation but it doesn't add up. Nothing does.
I stay Comprehensive but nothing suffices. Its a case of reversionist logic.
A impending cycle with no absolute meaning. Fog seems to cloud my judgement so my conscious doesn't comply.
Loathed anti prescription swallowed daily, while the white walls and blue ocean make it's scenery.
The voices try to compromise, but it's a debate that holds an never ending rebuttal.
Always forced into the unknown.
But a understanding of me, my voice, my demeanor, and my place in this bounden life circle is lost. So you must believe that no one will understand me.
I consider my self a ancient relic.
I'm one of a kind but not rare.
Cause once someone sees something extraordinary over time, it looses it's taste and someone becomes tired of seeing the same thing over time..
logic at it's finest.
We all soul
search to fill life's embrace of these mixed emotions.
To experience what keeps my sanity afloat.
My vices keep me intent.
In a way of keeping my head up and realize what power Im withholding that makes me immune to unknown circumstances.
But the path to the void is too simple.
My courage consumes and corrupts my will of giving up.
But yet again, it all seems irrelevant. Maybe your point of view on these lines I speak is a clear one. But then again maybe manipulative resources blind you. Or do you see my point?
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
I filled my bullet holes from the inside out
Concrete substitutions for flesh laid by a man of stone
So cold to the touch in the moonlight hours
I almost forget I was ever warm
Perforated to the core of my being
My initial rebuttal to the pain i felt was to harden myself
Teach myself to live with the cold
And look towards the solid shadows I then casted for inspiration to carry on
Fool myself into believing in the wholeness of a broken man
I lived as a creation of my own twisted and transformed imagination day in and day out
Dragging along the heavy weight a shield of hate brought with it
The problem being
Behind that shield I was protected fully from any outside source of grief
But I was trapped as well
A layer of thick rage and apathy deflecting any and all other emotion
A poison that constantly ate at what was left of me
Soon I became too weak to stand
The price you pay for being invincible against all other forces is that you can never stop yourself from dying on the inside
I had built a fortress to no avail
Because I had trapped the evil within myself
On my knees, my body rotting away
What was left of my flesh began to shrink back
The concrete was losing its grip the walls of skin that held them in retreating
The evil had won
Chunks of cement fell to the ground and crumbled
The agony indescribable
I was losing the last ounce of security I had left in this world
I was weak and the heaviness of the shield left when I could no longer hold it
I was defeated
I sat awaiting a death that in my mind was the only thing left assured to me
But it never came
Instead, I saw the sun rise over the horizon
I felt its warm rays on my disfigured flesh
And all around me was illuminated
In the light I saw how horrible what I had done to myself really was
At the price of living I had bought myself immortality
Nothing more than a cruel joke
Night never came again
And eventually I stood up
The light shone through my bullet holes as I did and the last of my disgust for the world was gone
I buried the shield and the crumbled stone deep in the darkness and never went back
Because no matter what may have been in my past, no matter how much blood I had shed, I knew that now I could live,
Truly
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
"Buried in the Sand" by Terry O’Leary
A beggar clump adorns a dump, his pencil box in hand -
With sightless eyes upon the skies he’s lying there unmanned.
He’s fallen down in Shantytown, his knees too weak to stand,
With no relief and bitter grief too dark to understand.
The Bowery blight is hid from sight, it’s covered up and bland,
And Robin Hood and Brother Hood lie buried in the sand.
"A Rebuttal" by Marshalg
So Hood lied low, despite the show ensueing without help,
One would have thought a British sort would spring forth with a yelp!
Would spring ***** to help deflect contusions which occurred
When beggar Clump adorned the dump confusing all deferred.
Whilst sister Ant, attired in scant, ran forth on spindly legs
And brother Frog with shaggy dog said **** and drank the dregs.
It all became too much, as such, a meelee did ensue,
So all called HALT and as one did BOLT...to the local for a brew!
Phew...that was FUN & hard work!
M.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
I am inclined to think
We all are related in a selfish fashion—
Every action has a reaction
Every favor comes with a rebuttal.
One way or another
We smother each other—
Subliminal hopes of bettering ourselves
At the expense of crippling those we claim to be of importance.
And this alone is what makes our worlds so similar.
Humans are fragile psychologically and in physicality,
So much we can't help but to betray the helping hand.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
written March 31, 2015
"Have you ever cried every day for two weeks straight?
I have
And although the tears were sporadic
My breaths were heavy and I had outbursts
These tears i'm experiencing, two weeks later
are hurting much much more
I'm not biting my tongue to hide my sobs
or crying into the pillow, late at night
Rather feelings the burn as each tear slowly runs down my cheeks
Every tear falls with a memory of you
and my heart is heavy tonight
I feel as if I'm suffocating
Because my heart and my head are in a rebuttal
Wishing two things upon myself
and I don't know where to go
I just want to stay still and do nothing for the rest of eternity
Who knew decisions could be this hard on someone
And why is it that the one who hurts you and treats you poorly
is the one you set your sights on
and want the most"
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
In the waking, in the wrong,
I stumble -- spitting synonyms for love
daring the scattershot night to take control
to steer me into the early morning bedroom
of anyone other than my own,
and over the phone breaking, over with biting
the mimicking face of former promise ring holders
and front pew sitters I ask the sun to emerge gently,
to kiss my forehead, scramble up eggs--
wearing my oversized t-shirt, cotton underwear, and
an apron left behind by the sun's mother,
but as night turns and walks away,
no bright sun replaces--
instead it is that grey, it is that gaunt
overcast haze that never shows teeth,
only hisses, "How's the routine going?"
In the waking, in the wrong,
hands pull denim and throat itches for shouting rebuttal,
but a man never won against the eternity of the sky,
so I lower my eyes, spin madly into why why whys,
a beautiful woman between pavement and sky jogs past
and I see myself drinking coffee with her and grinning
at what our elderly parents don't know,
but before the words fall from lips,
her feet, legs, and hips wisp
into the early morning mist,
the overcast sky whispers to the meadowlark
above my head,
I open the door to my home as the meadowlark begins to laugh.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 7:55 PM UTC
Up and over the barbed wire gate
Crept a dreadful Mr. Despair
To meet a horrible Mr. Hate
Who was impatiently waiting there
The dark alley that they had chosen
Was well off the beaten path
But it wasn’t long they heard approaching
A reckless Mr. Wrath
He greeted them with a grunt
A courtesy, for they’d never met
Then up from a steamy sewer
Rose a rueful Mr. Regret
He hardly nodded his heavy head
On his face a grumpy grimace
And so there they festered
Awaiting their last accomplice
Then out from a ***** dumpster
Creeping quite quietly
Fell the gang’s last felon
An awkward Mr. Anxiety
So there they plotted to pillage
In that abandoned alley
That lovely little town
Then called Vulnerable Valley
There they consorted, concocting
To bring the town nothing but gloom
They snickered, spat and sneered
Oh, the impending doom
Suddenly all peered upward
As a light shone through a window above
Their riotous rebellion had roused
A light-hearted Mr. Love
“Top of the mornin’ down there
Dandy weather wouldn’t ye say?”
To which there was no rebuttal
To sewers and shadows
The creeps had crept
To fraternize another day
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
He came, reluctantly pulled by his head
At the hands of a masked man,
Using large metal,
Salad Tong appearing forceps,
Rudely, crudely yanked from his mother’s
Cervical embrace, into the glaring,
First Light of intended living and breathing.
His head now misshapen,
(To return to normal they assured,)
His little body more blue than pink,
Umbilical cord around his neck,
Absolutely ridged, not moving,
No sound did he make,
appearing more gone than here.
My own breath did cease until to my relief,
His tiny arms and hands did give notice
Of life, followed soon after by a fitting
Shrill scream of rebuttal, a rebuke to
The light, the air, the rude process
That had brought him there.
One moment at peace, safe and warm
Within his womb of tranquility, dreaming
Whatever dreams the pure and innocent's
Do dream, then abruptly ripped from
All that peace, out into all this!
At that moment I too wanted to join in,
Echo his howl, his guttural protestation,
I too swept up by that ethereal wave of disturbance
Feeling his struggle as if he was drowning in new found air.
For me, as if at this moment of his birth,
I too was being reborn.
My knees grew weak, I was for a instant dizzy,
I struggled to regain my own lost breathing.
Restart my own heart, fight back the water in my eyes.
I let go of his mother’s hand, she with eyes closed,
As if sleeping, exhausted from too many hours of labor,
My respect and love for her and her magnificent efforts,
Expanded then to boundless.
The tender masked women in white,
They with shining, smiling eyes,
Quickly cleaned, and wiped him dry,
Swaddled him in a tiny blanket and laid him into
My unaccustomed arms, and for the very first time
In our lives, I looked upon the face of my son.
At that precise moment, some purposeful mental,
Primordial emotional switch, was indeed flipped,
And I, WE would never be the same again.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Answer me
by Nat Lipstadt
Why are the children
if not hurting themselves,
so busy hurting others?
I know hurt in ways you cannot fathom,
And I rise up daily with a but a single quest:
Banish the hurt, expel the hurters,
And practice the one true faith:
Kindness and Grace.
Sometimes the madness I read, too much, too much,
And I walk away and store my poems in another place.
But I am reminded,
There is no such thing as too kind,
So I wander back,
Chagrined and Chastened,
Hoping one among you
Will help to raise up
Me.
The Rebuttal
Ask me now to fight your war and I shall vanquish legions vast
Call that I, a mountain scale and I shall conquer summit fast.
Command me firmly, forth to go and I shall strive as best I can
But call me to administrate and I will call you fool, be ******
Thus some have talent to be red and some attend to hues of green
But few have skills of rainbow shade, few, at least, that I have seen.
Some wear fear upon their smile others writhe with minds that burn,
They wallow deep in misery, whilst others stop to see and learn.
Some are black and some are white, for most the favoured shade is grey....
Roar ye might for judgement's fall, but futile friend... as death's delay.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 2:34 AM UTC
It's as easy as life, this
chronic rebuttal and no
matter how right you are
you're always wrong placing
bets with your own ******
It's as easy as life, but
who's to say life is easy?
certainly not those who have left
and gone on to bigger things; they'd
like to believe in all this in retrospect
but things should be simpler.
It's as easy
as easy as life
guessing is not easy.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
The jagged edges of rocks
Get smoothened by flowing water
Yet, the broken mental edges
Cannot be soothed by the flowing emotions
Holding on to life, hanging from a precipice
Not aware of the surrounding, but mental agony
Blurry eyes and senses, leaves you forlorn
Donning a black cloak, coalescing with darkness
Oblivion beckons with enthusiasm
To make you a part of the lonely journey
Travelling with a heavy load of denials
Yet, the rebuttal, becomes the only truth
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
If I were to elicit success's embodiment
And to feel it's enrapture, like sin
It's touch, coarse as salt to the fingertips?
Would it smell like a rose on the wind?
To risk, for a shared surreptitiousness
That very boldness independence empowers,
to instead announce allegiance to the flock of the age
When drinking after hours
Should it matter on the stage...
As a coy rebuttal to loneliness
In prioritizing what you need,
by finding "circuitous" after a dip in the thesaurus
for describing a sentence about trees
("When, obviously, it's actually describing something...far more potent...than any mere tree.")
...what fails to show up on the page?
Such is the world that Art wanders into
All big gestures 'round a clattering din
....but instead, "Success" has meant to me
A home in my arms
And she feels like a world
resting beneath my chin
A thought that cancels out Art's disappointments
...And her breath is a rose on the wind.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:58 AM UTC
Born and brewing on the road
A choice on me has been bestowed
To grant one side my presence there
Take time to choose; contrast, compare.
Offers, one side, an easy life
Let's sing all day, and play the fife!
The other, it seems, is harder still,
Yet full of life; a forest's trill.
"Come here!" one says, "there's much to do!"
"Have fear!" one says, "it's brutal too!"
"It's crueler there," says one, in rebuttal.
"It's cruel, but fair," one says with a scuttle.
Forever struck, undecided on the road
For which side is better; my humble abode?
Made soon is this choice, for ahead comes upon
Two lights on the hill, like a double edged dawn
Quick like a deer, I unfold into action.
Be part of the woods? Or a slave unto fashion?
To the judgement of others, their eyes on my back?
Or the home of the hunters, to survive their attack?
To the glistening great cities with the smog thickened air?
Or the rolling green trees, all alone in despair?
So towards the lights I will run, on the road I will ride.
For I will always remain with one foot on each side.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
there are moments with
you, and moreover, tiny
moments within moments,
and so forth, when it feels
impossible to be any closer
to you than the cigarette
between index and rebuttal.
[it should be saying a lot(but it's not)]
like on those southern nights
when honey stained our lips
and lives and judgment;
they showed up in the back
of a police car, armed with
a deadly arsenal of threats
as empty as the bottle of
whiskey in the corner.
they left, and we delivered,
before the state could sweep ash
away into the dustpan of a foster
home and furthermore into the
wastebasket or dumpster of the
so-called effectively efficient system.
we caught some air mixed in with
the paper souls betwixt index and
profane, and discussed past lusts
and loves and losses and the insanity
of the preceeding few days while the
accompanying ebb of breath and flow
of fire beat gently on our consciences.
the new year; i never thought i'd
make it here, and neither did you.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC