"slurpee" poems
waiting in a white room with no furniture
the humming air conditioner
can’t even drown out my thoughts
waiting to go back to maryland
for a hyperbolic death sentence—
to meet with the wonderful hypocrites
who shaped my cynicism
and anxiety
to feast on the last meal
of failure.
waiting to hear back from potential employers
who hold my future in their hands
but prefer to let me stew
waiting for the tears to start falling
I can feel my eyes welling
my lungs lugging every last bit of air
to my heart as it pounds
like an urgent knock at the door
waiting alone
with just my thoughts.
waiting to see the friends
who never got out to see the world
to look at me with delight, hoping
soon I will re-join their ranks
as a mindless tractor mechanic or slurpee filler
waiting for the cheap bottle whisky
in my stomach to regurgitate
waiting for numbing conversations
about menial tasks and news
like the weather, or something else I can see in front of me.
waiting to be coma.
waiting to see my reflection—
or shadow.
waiting for paper and pen,
waiting for suicide by rhyme at the end.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 8:10 AM UTC
Mary, plain name. Mary, mother of God
Mary, Queen of the Strip Mall
Mary, daughter of a King and a *****
Divinity in her blood, conqueror of lands,
Monarch of her body, kingdom of junkies.
Nails inlaid with pearls, mink lashes and onyx eyes
Indigo polyester wraps her 36, 30, 41,
saltwater taffy legs, **** and ***
Mary wasn’t a tall boy, Mary is a funnel cloud queen
Obsidian brazilian in velcro, soda can curls.
Mary has no titles, Mary is a ******* Mary is an exile.
Queen of cream stucco and neon and parking lots.
Mary has disciples, all named Judas.
She has Roy Cohn, the judge’s son, and Louis XIV on their knees in prayer.
She has **** Cheney, Little Richard, and Freud their knees in the bathroom behind the Tesco.
Mary doesn’t confess, doesn’t beg, doesn’t buy.
Mary the conqueror, Alexander reincarnate, she survives.
Body bathed in ultraviolet, cocoa butter, vaseline, and newport menthols.
Mary talks to God in the mirrors at the salvation army.
Mary is scared of dying, she knows she is no ones martyr.
Mary never kneels, left the Bible in the motel nightstand.
A graceful end, a unceremonious departure.
Trade rose petals for needles and styrofoam slurpee cups.
Mary’s mistresses, lovers, and wives, gave her a few lead rounds,
Left her in the strip mall mausoleum.
Mary, queen of the carnal, saint of suburban perversions.
Mary never asked God for forgiveness or a fix.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 3:47 PM UTC
I poured out my bitterness
one night over dinner
and it dripped all over my dessert
The conversation went
from sweet to sour
but I lapped it up with a burp
It turned lame and it became
all about me
and out fell a foul smell
for all to see
But happily they all sipped
with a straw dipped
in my ***** like a slurpee
Apr 6, 2022
Apr 6, 2022 at 4:15 PM UTC
A Comet passed too near the sun,
and was filmed disintegrating..
Perhaps its G.P.S. was off
or just recalculating.
The solar skimming comet
surely melted in the heat.
Old King Sol, our yellow dwarf
Enjoyed his slurpee treat.
Astronomers were quite tight lipped
When asked to speak upon it
All I got from one stargazer
Was a terse” No Comet!”
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 8:02 PM UTC
The Batman Movie (a review). The clues part was cool, but the end of it got boring. I liked that Batman kept a journal - I like the idea of men keeping journals, because, do men have many thoughts they share? Men’s thinking seems so ephemeral.
In this Batman resurrection, Pattinson’s Bruce Wayne & Batman are Kurt-Cobain-like emo and that seemed to work. Didn’t you just want to take your hand and get his hair out of his eyes? I think guys should have hair - I like hair on guys, not buzz cuts. I liked the muscle-car Batmobile.
I liked Zoey Kravitz, she was girl power, but not in a hot girl way, she had her own motivations, she wasn’t just in danger and served up to fuel Batman.
The movie is too long though. They need to bring back movie intermissions - I’d vote for that. As usual, I drank my giant slurpee and ate ½ my popcorn before the twenty minutes of previews were finished.
It’s a three hour movie. I had to *** so bad by the time the movie was ¾ over that I was grinding on my popcorn bucket to keep it in. I finally had to make a dash for the bathroom - I was afraid I’d miss the KISS scene. Argh!
Let’s talk about Robert Pattinson, the actor, and his arch from Twilight to Batman. Of course, doesn’t every vampire turn into a bat? (joke) but it’s always Pattinson being moody, being hot, figuring himself out and the introspective man - the broody man.
Are broody men **** I don’t like broody men in real life - I feel that only one of us gets to be moody in a relationship - and it’s going to be me. Pattinson seems almost zany and cheeky in RL so the brood is his method act. I Like that Pattinson didn’t buff-up for the role - I think the buffed-up muscle-man as superhero perfection somehow relates to capitalism. Pattinson’s American accent was good.
What was missing from the movie was horniness. Batman didn’t seem HOT for Cat-girl - he just stood there for her to kiss. What’s boy-girl attraction if it’s not horniness? Where has the horniness gone in movies? Sexiness is missing from ALL the superhero movies - I guess the age demo is too young.
I give it three out of five stars
Apr 28, 2022
Apr 28, 2022 at 7:02 AM UTC
Teej.
God owes us an apology for this one.
It is a failure of the world.
If there was too much
hurt in the dark corners where
you were cupping your palms,
trying to light matches, then
there is too much hurt.
Jellyfish Baby, we could see
through your pinkwhite skin
to all the bleeding pieces but
not stop the suffering.
So you sliced a hole in the skin of the world
and leaked out. All the brightness of you
spilled like a slurpee on the sidewalk,
dropped by careless hands.
We should've been more careful with you.
We should've built warmer nests
in which to cradle your tender heart.
We should've whispered in your ears as you slept
that 'home' is not a place
in the sky but people around a table
and dinner plates for everyone
and no one going hungry
or alone.
It is a failure of the world.
There is
too
much
hurt.
And there are still dark corners but
we have
no matches.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
Slow rains, but the days working,
No pain, and the god's burning,
You tell me my taxes don't matter, when the game's spooky?'
I said my brain hurts, but no movies,
So meet me at the drop back, last gulp,
A glass of your white juice, with no pulp
but when the robots start beeping, light switch, up, down, backward,
it doesn't even count when the wires in your head spark.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
This year I went to the Fair
I couldn't believe how many people were there
There were rides, games and so much food
Taking everything in brighten my mood
On what to do next I couldn't decide
So I thought I chose something to ride
I don't do heights all that well
So I just rode the carousel
I played a game trying to get a prize
I didn't win, wow, what a surprise
I ate some nachos with a lot of cheese
I sipped a cold slurpee and got brain freeze
I saw an owl, a zebra, a camel, and a raccoon
Also a little boy crying who'd lost his balloon
On the way out I stopped and bought a souvenir
I'll definitely be back again next year
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 9:18 AM UTC
My best friend Katy, an Okie
taught me useful life skills
as we walked along
train tracks covered in rocks
behind the Wrigley's factory
In every vent there were clumps
of fresh made spearmint gum
deposited fresh daily
and free, ours for the taking
And as we made our way
down Mission Street
loud, with dust and gravel
wafting up as big trucks drove
by and a row of ****** bars beckoned
to unknown lost souls
We'd arrive at 7-11 for
a slurpee
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
Play ball.
Bathroom stalls.
Cotton candy.
Randy Jackson.
Action films, comedies, and romances.
Shopping malls.
Blue ***** and hot chicks.
**** itch.
Shop lift.
Pockets full of chocolates.
A rock in my pocket reminds to think.
I hate when my clothes shrink.
Smoke rings.
Chinese Yo Yos.
** Hos and a slurpee.
7 11, stopped for munchies and im thirsty.
Working overtime.
Overworking me.
The herbal remedy has my mind fried.
Blind sided.
Hindsight is 20/20.
Im lazy.
The shades are pulled down.
Its hazy.
Inactive.
Let me roll this blunt in the back seat of this cadillac.
Two P, pass that.
Im not looking to die.
Im looking for life after death.
Aftermath.
Nothing left.
Blasted, not bombs.
Its my head and my chest.
Its the sess.
On my finger tips and on my breath.
I exhale clouds of wickedness.
Cleanse the soul.
Refresh.
Impress the judges to sway their interests.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 12:51 AM UTC
at the county fair on the zipper
which everybody says is held together
in places with duct tape
you kiss me with blue-raspberry
slurpee lips
while we flip
and flip and
my stomach is sick
but i don't mention it.
the sky beyond the bars
of our cramped car
is still blue
but the night is bleeding in.
i wish i could swim
in that lingering blue:
play mermaid like as a child
on summer nights
in the neighbor's aqua pool.
in the water, weightless --
yet even then, perfectly careful
to avoid the deep end
where the sharks lurk.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
you danced
in dark silent streets
letting icy snow
fall like tacks
on your tongue
caught in a dreamy pirouette
your arms out wide
in surrender to the heavens
beyond pale streelights
your eyes to the sky
reigning down upon you
snow falling like
a slurpee spilling onto the tile floor
of a 7-Eleven
our boots sloshing through it
your three-year absence
from it
ends with a nostalgia
and an innocence
you felt you lost
yet it descends upon you again
as you twirl
under snow like tacks
on your tongue
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC
-iced coffees and knife tattoos couldn't justify the broken glass glinting off your back, so water down the orange sadness in your grey eyes and start pulling apart the summer nights' convenient secrets
- the gas station 6 minutes from home can teach you a thing or two about energy and mileage but no matter how far you go, the moon will always being its stars along to remind you of brand new ideas and bright eyes; don't blink or you'll miss a gunning thought
- with the loose thread on your hat's embroidery, stitch together 24 dandelions and swallow the ink that runs from the moments that you put you on a golden high; speeding down the highway on the road to a fresh, green burst of adrenaline on the coast is one that turned into silver
- your walk to the white laundromat down the street required a soft cold slurpee that would quench more than just your summer vibe but you picked up a medium iced hazelnut coffee instead and called it 'starting over' so your best friend would be proud of the way you handle new beginnings and stale cookies
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
Touch
rough
Sight
orange
Smell
Sweet
Cherries
Taste
Sweet
Lime
Lemon
Hear
Crunch
Munch
Snap
Chewy
Slurpee
Gulp
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
I saw her dancing on the stage
Within my pants I felt a rage
The animal wants out the cage
I hope she's on the same page
She found me standing by the bar
She said she saw me from afar
We went and sat under the stars
She said she lived by where we are
I gestured we go back inside
"Or" she said "we could go in your ride"
I knew right there, this girl is mine
And now it'd be my time to shine
We ended up back at her home
And now its time to make her moan
But moans quickly turned to groans
When I realized I had no domes...
**** I thought, "this is a mess"
But suddenly I did digress
Thought "what the hell" and I said yes
When she told me she was on Alesse
Without even thinking I went up in her
Had breakfast, lunch...and she was dinner
I really thought I was a winner
No halo here, this girls a sinner
I left her place dehydrated and thirsty
So I hit the Sev and bought a slurpee
I knew that girl wouldn't hurt me
But then I woke up with *****
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 7:23 PM UTC
You can't catch me 22
I'm miles dead ahead of you
Runnin' circles round' you squares
With lion shares and grizzly bares
Livin' on a cobra's prayer
With taboo turpitude'n tongue
Conundrums that I'm summon'un
The meta-Orpheus has come
Since 21, the chosen one
I'm neo-hippy rebel ****
So ante-uppers, get you some
Eleven seven slurpee sun
Super-soaking supernovas
With a matrix water gun
From vats of hydrochloric
Spillin' Joker on the masses
Turnin' Gotham allegoric
Into clown prince rhymes of passion
Of a blood of Christ fanatic
Jimmy Jones'n as I'm cashin'
In the semi-theocratic
Weapon cache'n checks imbalanced
Chemically unstable attic
Bat **** crazy poison gases
Spewin' power-trippin' fascist
Cataclysmic autocratic
Devolution clash of classes
Resolution's prehistoric
Meteoric democratic
So I'm risin' from the ashes
From dismayin' to conveyin'
How I'm goin' super Saiyan
When the treasure hordes of Mordor lords
Corrupt the men of Numenor
For Bard the Bowman heroes
Are the roles that I am playin'
In shadows of the Arkenstone
When I go dragon slayin'
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 1:05 AM UTC
The sun beats a dead horse through a desert of lies
the only oasis is 44 ounces of pure bliss
cooling the essence from within
There is no greater comfort, no greater satisfaction
On the hottest summer day
life drains out of the chalice of joy
Its remnants still cold against my lips
burning into my being the memory of it
Empty and discarded the heat rises
Once again roaming and rummaging through the day
searching endlessly for the reality to match the memory
a world of imposters pretending they are worthy
Trying to believe that contented equals happiness
Disappointment lies empty at the bottom of the bin
Left to wander in search of that purity of bliss
For there is no greater comfort, no greater joy
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 9:31 PM UTC
everybody hates chris hums on the television.
during commercial breaks, i stare at the ceiling,
feeling bed rest marooned.
cocooned in sweat-soaked blankets
dotted with crumpled kleenex
i ask myself for the first time:
“why am i alive?”
and it’s not that i want to die
although the strep throat
swelling up my lymph nodes
is hardly worth staying for,
but rather i ask what it means to be 10
and not able to see far beyond then
and where i fit into the hopscotch
criss-cross applesauce chaos
that is the world beyond the playground fence.
once im well again i ask my friends.
matthew strokes his hairless chin, then shrugs,
he doesn’t have time for existentialism,
he’s running late for cello lessons
so the question bounces off him like a
handball off a wall:
with a slap and a thump back down.
i ask tyler now.
he cares about me, but girls are gross.
he has a reputation to uphold,
which he won't if he tells me so.
he grasps for an answer,
not heartless, but manhunt tough,
“well, you make me laugh,
i think that’s good enough.”
that summer, he moved to texas.
facebook says he works at 7-11
and i wonder if on the night shift
when customers stop trickling in
and he’s mopping up puddles of slurpee
he remembers wrestling me on black top,
arms tangled in impossible knots,
fifth grade love and skinned knee blood
flowing between blows
and still laughs.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 3:09 AM UTC
Better don your leather chaps it's going to be a rough one
Pack extra roll caps into your Six Gun
Ask for double shots to compliment your Starbucks
All that's left now is to wish you good luck
Bring an extra pack of Bottle Rockets if you have them
Monkey wrench and needle nose pliers if you can find some
This could read as the last page to the final chapter
In what we anticipate as the Happily Ever After
Do all you can do to bring the water balloons
A cassette if you could of your favorite Show Tunes
Add extra sugar in your Slurpee from the 7-11
This ain't going to be easy is what I am guessing
Get a tight grip on your Thingamajig
Loosen the top on the Pickle jar lid
We're about to go through another life lesson
Which ain't nothing new if I was a man betting
Pack your bags for another day in the life
Extra padding would help for the bumpy ride
Think we've thunk of it all there's no more to say
We're now more than ready for another day
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
The green shirt that is lying in a pile with my other clothes, does not look green to me anymore. I wore it once and washed it about five times because I always forget where I toss it.
As I sit here in the corner of my bed; my eyes burning from lack of sleep but still not tired enough— I see the faded green shirt, crumpled with my old pair of jeans and five other shirts that I never wear. It once meant more to me, that shirt. Now it is just weary and old, collecting memories and dust.
I cannot wear it anymore because the misty green reflection in my eyes take me back, to when I first met you. The smell of cold coffee and the roughness of tissue papers from our first date makes me swoon. It reminds me, of several letters that I wrote to you with silly scribbles on the top and the crossword puzzle that I drew that now deserves a place in your bin. Takes me back to the seashore at night, candle light and the photographs you took of me wearing it. I can still feel the coldness of the plastic cup with the orange slurpee that we shared and laughed till our stomachs hurt, the way you held me every time you came to see me at my place. I think about the weekend we spent together, the matters we argued over; the days, the nights, afternoons and evenings that I cried alone in a grey room while anxiety twisted its knife deeper into my torso. The green shirt in the pile, reminds me of your beautiful smile, yoga class twice a day and how I trusted you with things when I was the most vulnerable and opened up to you and Oh, how you used it against me. Your shirt makes me think of how much my sister liked you, your childish laughter and the short story you wrote about not wanting your shirt back because you think I'm huge and I must have stretched it all out.
Out of all the things that we could and could not have said to each other— I'm sorry for stretching your shirt out.
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
Hey baby this one's for you. Like I said earlier the one and only thing I'm scared of is losing you. That's it. That's my one and only fear. Why you might ask? Well it's quite simple. For one, You're the first person I've ever been emotionally attached to. You're my thought when I wake up and you're my thought when I go to bed. I cuddle my pillows at night and pretend that they are you. You're always on my mind. Two, is because you make me so ******* happy. No one has ever made me this happy before and I cherish every last second we have with each other. No matter what's going on in my life you always know how to bring a stupidly big smile to my face. You're the only person I want to be with for a long time. Even when you spit burritos or cherry slurpee in my face(:
Three, I've never been more comfortable with anyone ever. Not even my life long friends. You've broken me out of my shell more than anyone. And I'm truly grateful and very appreciative for that. You make me less insecure about everything because I know you'd never judge me. You're the one person I can tell everyhthing to. This may seem really corny or really sappy or whatever, but every word in this poem is the God's honest truth. I hope reading this puts a smile on your face. And I don't care how bad your life is or how messed up you are, I will ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS be there for you. I will NEVER NEVER NEVER give up or quit on you. I WILL try my **** hardest to try and make your life a lot happier and a lot better.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC