"shaving" poems
It's never quite right, he said, the way people look,
the way the music sounds, the way the words are
written.
It's never quite right, he said, all the things we are
taught, all the loves we chase, all the deaths we
die, all the lives we live,
they are never quite right,
they are hardly close to right,
these lives we live
one after the other,
piled there as history,
the waste of the species,
the crushing of the light and the way,
it's not quite right,
it's hardly right at all
he said.
don't I know it? I
answered.
I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night
nothing changed
it was locked in place.
something flashed, something broke, something
remained.
I walked down the stairway and
into it.
57.7k
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I am not broken, I am free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...
Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.
Do you see me now?
Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.
Do you see me now?
Pants swollen, hair to my brow,
Along my jaw,
Down my legs,
Sprouting from my toes.
Do you see me now?
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on my sheets, not between my legs
Stained by the girl who lies in her place
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, Burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Please tell me
Do you see me now?
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
Three Minute Warning
A messenger delivers
A three minute warning
As I lay in bed at 10:30 am
(Resting in preparation for,
not from, our oops, early morning hike).
Breakfast will be ready in 3,
Get your **** in gear or else
It will be cold, I'll be mad,
And you will answer to a
Higher Authority.
No problem cause I already know
All I need is two.
Splash water on my face
Now I'm presentable
enough to the human race,
current company probably won't be happy,
But I ain't telling her, are you?
Shave! You crazed?
It is a three day weekend,
Every day a July Fourth,
Celebrating freedom from the European tyranny,
Of shaving smooth every day!
Splash water on my head, count with me,
Five brush strokes as you can plainly see
Is a classic case of overcompensating
In my geling n' hair stylin'
Brush my teeth, well,
I hope 2 full minutes of rinsing with CVS
Green stuff, mouthwash, will have to suffice.
Blast my deodorant both sides,
Long and strong, wearin' now
My bold blue *** husk of musk,
Cause I am a very considerate fellow
Who happens to really have stunk.
Clean T- shirt and shorts,
Yes, clean underwear too,
Leaves me a whole minute to write this scribble.
My flip flop noises coming down the hallway,
Are the butler announcing our joint arrival,
Me and my poem.
Lest you think this is paean to men
Another grand male boast,
Be advised this ditty be writty
By a man who, while no longer gritty,
Just put jelly on his scrambled eggs
And ketchup on his toast!
Mmmmmmm there might be a poem
Lurking in that too...
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes
shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit
brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times
barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now
an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze
i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge
free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation
floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun
you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound
you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul
dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly
©2016janetaylor
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
I got this body from some people I knew,
For a while, at least,
And all of its shortcomings
Including shortness
Were presaged, previewed and
More than adequately demonstrated
Over the years we lived together.
In the years I ignored that, listening
Rather to their voices
Which illustrated another prophesy less physical
And am now stunned to welcome
Both my Mother and Father
In the shaving mirror everyday.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
*Growing to a man and embracing my life.
My commitment to Allah, a journey begins with no strife.
Once in a lifetime, a pilgrimage to Mecca must be the end,
To my commitment to my religion and forgiveness of sin.
Number 7 has meaning as the journey begins.
First stop Medina, as I seek out peace.
Hajj station to Bath, dress in the Ihram.
Praying at Masjid Nabawi, purity, equality for all.
A statement of intent, I commit to all.
Entry to Masjid al-Haram complex is now allowed.
Circling seven times Kaaba as I pray to God.
Sipping water from Zam Zam to keep the law.
Walk through the hills of Safa and Marwa times seven,
Where I pray seven times more.
Prayers along the way to my God,
At Mount Arafat then other sacred sites.
Kneeling down to pray to Allah, Day and night.
Sleeping the night with 5 million strong,
Then rise up to stone the devil to atone,
Shaving head for cleansing, showing respect for God.
Sacrifice lambs to feed the poor.
Onward to Mecca, back once more.
Circle Kaaba, pray to my God
Repeating Tawaf on each turn of seven and no more.
Circle Safa, Marwa then on to Mina.
On to Mecca again for more prayers to my God
Enter Makkah performing Hajj,
Before the faithful return to Mecca on seven then do a farewell Tawaf.*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
I'm a soldier in the nightlight revolution
I'm fighting the nightmares that haunt your dreams
The monsters in your closet
And the Boogeyman under your bed
One outlet at a time
I'm a silent alarm that vibrates your covers
When older brothers come in after bed time
To cover your face in shaving cream
Dip your hands in popcorn bowls of warm water
Or just slap you in the face
Sometimes they're not that subtle
I know when there is a tooth under your bed
Or reindeer on your roof
I've got a motion detector to keep step fathers at bay
While your mother's asleep
I'm his grave digger and his crypt keeper
Taking his skeletons out of the closet
And laying them in the middle of the floor
That man won't call on you anymore
I'm a hug when all you need is a handshake
And a hold-you-all-night when all you need is a kiss on the cheek
I don't do half-ass
When things go bump in the night I bump back
Never fear to close both eyes when you sleep
Dream of fairy tales, Prince Charming
Dream of Maid Marions
Waiting for your touch
Don't fear the reaper he fears me
I am a soldier in the nightlight revolution
Armed with so much more than illumination
I crawl through the cracks in the closet door
Make their shadows cast pictures of rainbows on your wall
The Boogey Man runs from Chuck Norris
Chuck Norris runs from me
Please rest easy
Let the night take you for all it has to offer
Through star lit skies and rain filled clouds on magic carpets rides
Ocean floors and clown fish in little yellow submarines
Rain forests with koalas and parrots and panda bears
Son never fear for what the night brings near
The nightlight revolution is here
Throw your dream catcher away I will hand craft each one
Take the lavender out of the window sill
Don't leave the door cracked
You've got me
I'm here
We're all here
Soldiers of the nightlight revolution
And we will not sleep til you're awake
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC
"And in a funny way, the shaving of my, uh, head has been a liberation from, uh, a lot of, uh, stupid vanities really. Uh, it has simplified everything for me, it has opened a lot of doors maybe." - Stephen Malkmus, Jo Jo's Jacket
the first layer of skin i shed
was the bra
rid of the foreign metal sculptor producing a deep rift between skin
my third eye, swallowing gazes
rid of my **** , my ***** , my rack
replaced with sacks of fat and nerve and milk ducts
hanging, existing, for no one else
not even myself
the second layer of skin was the painting of the face
the concealing and erasing of imperfections, the lines of laughter of sorrow of life
redirecting attention and importance to the bow and symmetry of the lip
no longer did i have to put myself on in the morning
i woke up as i was, as i needed to be,
bare and uninhibited
my skin now breathed, and for no one else
not even myself
and then i grew another layer of skin,
made of dank tangles to protect my age,
i stopped shaving the years i'd walked this earth, shedding my womanhood
the skin grew to my armpits, little tufts of sweaty, odorous mother nature dozing in a fleshy convex nest
and to my legs, were the tangles wrapped around my ankles
preventing the spreading of the legs for every life
for not every life wanted what was not tame
and what was not tame no longer wanted to be.
my body did not conform,
for it was not brought into this world to be consumed for the pleasure of others
it exists for no one else,
not even myself
and as i was engulfed in this hairy wonder of my own body
i shed the last layer,
the shaving of the head
my brain, my being breathed
porous and exposed
vulnerable to weather and whispers
but i was all at once naked and calm,
having finally peeled away the layers of ***** over-sexualization and constrained femininity that had molded this meat sack that serves me,
a bundle of circuitry and solution balancing and bobbing on the neck
for i exist for no one else,
only myself
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
I feel you, I really do.
Guess what my father wasn't there too,
a bunch of substitutes but no one solid.
A bunch of institutes couldn't give me solace.
You'll wonder about fishing
and camping trips too.
You'll wonder about shaving
or using a tool.
You'll learn from your friends
some of the above,
then you'll learn on your own
and feel so unloved.
You'll get into trouble
and a couple of fights,
you're living and learning
its the way of life.
No worries though,
I'm here to tell you,
If you give it you're best they'll see the value.
So don't fret my boy for I am you, keep faith stay strong and you'll make it through.-JS
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I got sick of shaving
Every day
So I started growing a beard
For a while, it was technically stubble
But now it would make William T. Riker proud
Or at least smile and nod in approval
At the effort
I bought a beard trimmer at Walgreens
And I trimmed that *****
Made it nice and even
But it itches a lot
So I have to use dandruff shampoo on it when I can
I get compliments on it
From my mom and my brother
Whose beard should belong to a Canadian lumberjack
(Not my mom, my brother)
I love this beard
But I still get the urge to shave it completely
And return to baby-face
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:04 AM UTC
Growing to a man and embracing my life.
My commitment to Allah, a journey begins with no strife.
Once in a life time, a pilgrimage to Mecca must be the end,
To my commitment to my religion and forgiveness of sin.
Number 7 has meaning as the journey begins.
First stop Medina, as I seek out peace.
Hajj station to Bath and dress in the Ihram.
Praying at Masjid Nabawi, purity, equality for all.
A statement of intent, I commit to all.
Entry to Masjid al Haram complex is now allowed.
Circling seven times Kaaba as I pray to God.
Sipping water from Zam Zam to keep the law.
Walk through the hills of Safa and Marwa times seven,
Where I pray seven times more.
Prayers along the way to my God,
At Mount Arafat and other sacred sites.
Kneeling down to pray to Allah, Day and night.
Sleeping the night with 5 million strong,
Then rise up to stone the devil to atone,
Shaving head for cleansing, showing respect for God.
Sacrifice lambs to feed the poor.
Onward to Mecca and back once more.
Circle Kaaba and pray to my God
Repeating Tawaf on each turn of seven and no more.
Circle Safa, Marwa and on to Mina.
Then to Mecca again for more prayers to my God
Enter Makkah performing Hajj,
Before the faithful return to Mecca on seven and do a farewell Tawaf.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
No difference.
The sparrow *****
upside down
--ah! my brain & eggs
Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
--Someday I'll live in N.Y.
Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.
Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names
of the flowers--now
my garden is gone.
I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?
Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.
A frog floating
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.
(after Shiki)
On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.
Another year
has past-the world
is no different.
The first thing I looked for
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.
My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.
My early journal:
the first thing I found
in my old desk.
My mother's ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.
I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.
The madman
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.
Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...
Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.
On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone-
Screech of taxicabs.
A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.
The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.
[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624
Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.H.
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku."]
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First Love is funny
Like a burning ring
We all fell into it once
Memories Memories
Time ago
Young in age
Tender in heart
Just like in the garden
I wanted to touch the apple
Just the next street
Yet my bath must be long
Had no real beard
Wonder what I was shaving
Armpit cleaned like a desert
Nails cut to shape
Memories Memories
Shirt ironed repeatedly
Trousers checked for unseen tears
Day before
Only shoe shined to new.
Hair line brought to shape
By my mum used tiger razor
Memories Memories
Vasselin on my face
Power on my neck
Perfumed ear
To make complete
Memories Memories
Mirror Mirror
How do I look
Turning Turning
Looking Looking
The boy must be perfect
To met his presumed perfect girl
With a novel in hand
A nappe in the other
The boy good to go
Certified by my coach
Unseen shadow accomplices
Bold and calm
Queens and polished
coach gave order
Tell her she is not beautiful
But pretty
Tell her she is not a girl
But an angel
Tell her she is not now
But the future
Whistle blown
I marched forward
Be calm be calm
My shadow kept saying
Target in sight
Worrior on the March
Memories Memories
At the junction of battle
Without rain
Was covered in sweat
Had a quick look backward
My shadow had disappeared
queens refused to be fluent
words of love had flew away
Smiling was i
Cleaning my sweat
Opening my novel
able to ask for her note
Last assignment of Saturday
We don't school on Saturday
Memories Memories
Prayed for rapture
Even though I new
will end in hell
Any other thing
My hunted asked
No! no!! no!!!
The hunter said
Hunted standing
Hunter running
Memories Memories
Now in a corner
Waiting for my scar to heal
****** up my coach said
Thanking God I came alive
Even when the battle was lost
Memories Memories
Love is like a burning ring
We all fell into it once
Memories Memories
And
Memories
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 8:45 PM UTC
and if i stop, i'll miss the little things:
shaving my legs when i know you're coming over and
not drinking coffee because you don't like the taste of it on my tongue.
i'll miss
running out to your car with my shoes in my hand,
the very last goodnight kiss that's always sweetest.
i'll miss lying to my parents about traffic
and weather
when we were right around the curve of the road,
stealing kisses.
i'll miss
when you don't shave because you know i like your scruffy boy-stubble
when you touch my face without speaking
when your actions
are louder
than words.
i'll miss
your sweetness
i'll miss
your puckish sincerity
i'll miss
you.
i'll miss your hands
your tongue
and your lips on my cheek.
i'll miss you kissing each one of my fingers.
i'll miss our secret handshakes,
our inside jokes,
our petty fights.
i'll miss our song.
i'll miss our arguments about the beatles' breakup,
our railings against religious institutions
our speaking of souls.
and so what i'm proposing,
from me to you,
girl to boy and
heart to heart,
is that you don't stop loving me,
and i
won't stop loving
you.
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC
An Amish elder named Mullet,
And some of his ****** clan,
bore hatred deep in their gullets
for their Amish fellow man.
****** seemed out of the question,
It’s rare among Amish, folks say,
(It may be that a horse and a carriage
doesn’t make for a quick getaway.)
So Mullet and some of his minions
Invented a new sort of crime:
Shaving their bearded opponents
one Amish man at a time.
Losing one’s beard among Amish-
A disgrace before God, it’s been said.
Mullet spared no woman either
choping the hair from their heads.
His victims are speechless with anger,
denuded of both beards and hair.
Leave it to someone named “Mullet”
To offend using a Barber’s chair.
Mullet’s in Federal custody;
charged with a crime, not a sin.
He refuses to answer the charges
By the hair of his chinny chin chin.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
the barber and the bald man
and the ubiquitous philosopher
are travelling in ancient Rome
Here below the tree at night
they rest and take turns to keep an eye
on their luggage
Now it is the turn of the barber to keep watch
and he gets bored
and he takes out his shaving kit
and he gives the sleeping philosopher
a free shave, so now you have two bald men
And now it’s the philosopher’s watch
and he wakes up
and he feels his smooth head
and he muses to himself:
*“That stupid barber!
He has woken up the bald man
instead of waking up the philosopher!”*
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 7:29 AM UTC
shaved my head again last night,
watched empire records and saw deb and shaved my head again last night.
ate spaghetti, my best friend got into college
my best friend got into college and we ate spaghetti and shaved my head again
we shaved my head again cause we watched empire records and i saw deb and i saw deb shave her head and i thought that looks awesome
so we ate spaghetti
and she got into college,
she’s already in college but she got into a different college
so i made her spaghetti and we watched empire records
and we watched empire records
and ate spaghetti
and she shaved my head cause we watched empire records
and now she’s going to college
a different college
she’s already in college
she’s going to a different college
i didn’t text that dude
i didn’t text that dude, and he didnt text me
i saw his girlfriend on instagram
his girlfriend posted on instagram and i saw it
a picture of that dude
i was maybe going to text him
i was maybe
going to text him
but then i saw his girlfriend
on instagram i saw his girlfriend
his girlfriend posted on instagram
a picture of that dude
so i didn’t text that dude
cause i saw his girlfriend
i woke up and my cats were on me and my arm was asleep
my arm was asleep
my arm was asleep cause my cats were on me
my cats, both of them,
two of them, my cats
were on it, one of them, one of my arms,
both of my cats
both of my cats were on one of my arms
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
We wwirl and bow under roof tops and
into metal shaving mirriors. I found in me
tiny peices in love to humankind. New words
new foundations lauph with ground breaking
earth worms. We were slugs inching towards
nine slimy hearts. Cut us down and we will
give you one example one reason you are
still yarn weaving through needle fused claws.
Write four lines inside a tigers stripes. Give bees
the chance to **** with kindness. Let us prove
one changes into every universal creation to
form another mothers spitt into faces and thumbs.
This is proof we are one to eachother.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
I envy the stylish model
her styrofoam perfect *******
those legs that never need shaving
the sweet smile that needs no rest
the hair that’s always behaving
the pose that teasingly arrests
she’s a icon of current fashion
a flower neatly pressed
but no love will ever find her
no one cares if she’s undressed
she’ll never accomplish anything
never mind - I’m not impressed
Dec 3, 2021
Dec 3, 2021 at 6:17 AM UTC
l{one}l{I}ness
hurts like
one
e m p t y
cup of coffee while another sits
cold in the late afternoon light
full and a little bitter
like your stomach
it stings
like
too much wine -- or *****
against chapped lips
at 10:45p.m.
finding a ****** wrapper under your bed
of trapped in the corners of your sheets
or cigarette cherries falling onto fuzzy
knee
caps
while Johny Cash
sings you into drunken sleep
al{one}
at
11:30 p.m.
it throbs like heads
and unanswered text messages
and bruises on your knees
the day
after
blinking dizzily into grey-morning-afternoon-night
waking up in a single bed
when the fires have gone out
makeup is smeared
and you realize you forgot to put on socks
it feels like that look on your face
when calls go unanswered
and pretty lingerie makes your skin look
bruised
when a dress meant for a party lies
crumpled in the corner of your bed
or your bathroom
damp and wrinkled
from showers taken at
3.am.
to burn out the lonely that
clings
like
your hands in his when you stop
being alone
or like perfume on a
black tee-shirt that you
borrowed months ago
it is comforting like cheap coffee
and relaxed smiles
of an entire box
of off-brand reeses cocoa puffs
with almond milk
of the taste of peach cigarillos
it is sweet like sweet red and dark chocolate
on a tuesday night
when you are in your underwear
or like listening to sad music
while shaving your legs
and buying a bottle of nail polish
because of the pun in the name on its
bottom
it is also addicting like
the smell of their sweat or
seeing their car parked at the gas station
and holding your breath
to see them
or counting the *******
band stickers on their bumper
to the beats of your heart
untill the lights turn green
it is like listening to ingrid michaelson
in a cold car or sitting
in a cheap orange chair in a coffeeshop
by yourself.
it is like drinking a bottle of wine before
5 p.m.
or watching the sun rise
over naked
january trees
when you haven't slept the night before
or the night before that
or the night before
or the night
before
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She had her own signature scent,
A lasting aroma, that lingers in every corner of her home
As the strong winds picked up the scent,
and move it quite a distance.
She carefully prepare the mixture from the earth
Cuss ,kuss grass, Jasmine, rose buds and roots,
Before she prepare the mixtures with that special touch
Like a fine wine from the winery,
“One more drop of Rosemary oil, she would say
This would make the scent last for eternity,
Old Granddad he would make silly jokes,
His word usages, madam chemist, a witch with a spoon,
But in the end, she would always made a special potion for him
We would carefully select the flaky mahogany woods shaving,
with combinations of fresh vanilla leaves with extracting oil with oils
Those homemade perfumes from flowers had lots of potential.
Granddad hand craft the wooded bottle stoppers with his chisel,
It was a joy to watch, the old Irish typhoon working and smoking his pipe
Old Alan baffler was Nana nickname for him
She would scold and speak harshly to us
for touching the those colorful luring bottles
“Don’t open those bottles, you malicious children
Else a witch would appear: She would often say,
For me, my nana was an old chemist,
with old decade’s wooden sticks.
Preparing the mixtures like a fine wine,
I am forever grateful for those memories
I should have follow in her footsteps,
Her secret potions, her gift,
Is worth millions of dollars today
Looking back on yesteryears , good parenting
and good memories
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
THIS is what love is.
banana bubblegum and magnetic poetry
the crickets on my front porch at three in the morning
making origami cranes out of butcher paper
even when I forget whether it's mountain fold or
valley fold and my crane turns out looking like a
seamonkey in a blender
wildflowers!
striped button-down shirts and plastic dinosaurs
singing Juanes at the top of our lungs
(Gah, you know
I can't speak Spanish.)
laughing at the serious parts in movies
having the patience for when
the words don't come out
and I have to stop
and think
(for a very long time)
and half the time it doesn't make sense anyway.
impromptu dance sessions on the side of the road
doors flung open, radio up
chocolate chip pancakes
out-of-town adventures
mailboxes. LOTS.
balcony raves with lots of glowsticks
and let me borrow that top!
just letting me sleeeeeeep
the smell of new pointe shoes
of New Orleans
of bluebonnets
telling me when I look awful (please)
making me eat things that I don't like
SNUGGLEBUNNY TIME
drive-thru people who hate our guts
That's What She Said's.
praising Buddha naked
dysfunctional kites
paying in change at Chicken Express
late night phone conversations
when I sound drunk
(but I'm not,
I'm tired. I just would rather
talk to you
than sleep.)
silence.
cupcakes, uniform closets
not shaving our legs in the winter
shadow puppets, rap songs,
Slumdog Millionaire
making once-in-a-lifetime faces
looks that speak oceans
pecan pralines and symphony orchestras you'll
never play with again but for that night
you're family
and you'll never forget it.
matches (aren't always for candles)
thousands upon thousands of candids
and the not-so-candids
saving kisses in your pocket for later
Neverland, Disneyland, cats
yellow dresses and stage make-up
watermelon Jolly Ranchers
saying my name like it's wrapped in blankets
and knowing that
even though I don't say it
as much as I should:
I do.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:51 PM UTC
railroad yard in San Jose
I wandered desolate
in front of a tank factory
and sat on a bench
near the switchman's shack.
A flower lay on the hay on
the asphalt highway
--the dread hay flower
I thought--It had a
brittle black stem and
corolla of yellowish *****
spikes like Jesus' inchlong
crown, and a soiled
dry center cotton tuft
like a used shaving brush
that's been lying under
the garage for a year.
Yellow, yellow flower, and
flower of industry,
tough spiky ugly flower,
flower nonetheless,
with the form of the great yellow
Rose in your brain!
This is the flower of the World.
San Jose, 1954
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