"spaceships" poems
oh honey ****
pen and ink **** star warrior
pretty little manga girl
twinkle wisp
with kung fu throwing stars
and triple steel samurai sword
that tear through others
made of pink taffy
and cherry juice fizz blood
moving like lightening
a flying gladiator
with dripping sweet rice
and tapioca milk shake *******
oh
you would taste so good to drink
out of a swirling sherbet punch bowl
with big blow job star goldfish
and hungry pink ***** lips octopus
drooling
sit on your face suckers
oh, fighter of one-legged midgets
the best part after a fresh ****
victory ****
to go down on them
their loli pop *****
butter ***** beautiful
springing through the top of your skull
cause you can't get enough
oh wow
happy hello kitty
***** plump plops
viscous
before the coup de grâce
as she twirls their chewing gum gizzards
with her little swizzle tongue
goo ga licious
before placing
what's left of their hose like glistening entrails
around her throat like a pearl necklace
only to get strangled with it
by double **** UFO boy
solar ******* hero of the universe
so hard
she spurts pineapple juice and *** donuts
out of pucker pie ****
**** banged cross eyed
like little girl manga never felt so good
addicted to cruel
whipped with a hella wet noodle
yes no yes no yes no
yes pleazzz
her big blue marble glass eyes
binocular kaleidoscopes
spring out on the floor
and roll around
turning into all seeing
anti-gravity magnetized
silver pin stripped spaceships
peopled by
evil omni ****** **** *****
screaming through eternity
in search of cosmic
tushi sushi
ogling wiggling ballerina butts
bubble gum for the eyeballs
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
Have I ever compared you to the stars?
Have I ever described your eyes in ways that resemble constellations?
Talk to me about time.
Talk to me about the universe
in all ways that I'll never be able to understand.
Spin me around like a clock and take me back in time
to the days when stars shined brighter than these city lights.
We don't have to say a word.
Make no noise, not a sound.
Let silence fill our ears.
Let the quiet take over the earth.
Let us float in this peace,
and enjoy the time we have together.
I had a dream, however insane, that we were dancing with the cosmos.
Twirling with the burning stars,
and playing hide and seek with the spaceships.
I know that you have to leave soon
and I know that stars don't burn forever,
but lay with me here on the ground.
We'll count sheep all night until
the sun greets us in the morning letting us know
that the night is dead and gone.
It's not my fault that I fell in love with the world in you.
I see so much life in you
and I think we should stay in this position forevermore.
We will never miss another darting star,
Whirling its way passed us breaking our silence just for a second.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
We laid on the trunk of his car
Shivering backs against dented metal
I always look at the stars
But tonight you did too
You pointed out constellations
And they were all wrong
It was so cold
But it was everything
Next to you
Laughing
Freezing
We were stargazing like we did in my summer dreams
And now when I see a nightsky
This is what i'll remember
Even if it's just another thing you forget to take with you.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
Sipping champagne at 30.000 feet,
Fangs and claws can never reach us.
No longer fearing the beast,
War and famine spills from our hands.
Are we just,
Monkeys with guns and spaceships,
Calling a tiny speck of dust home.
They say,
Get yours before it's too late.
Dining on desire,
We decide.
Astronauts or soldiers.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
MARS
The Shaman and the Planet Mars,
Gazing in wonder amid the stars,
Arms raised in worship,
The Universe the Navajo church,
Ancient marvels to behold,
The human race timeless and old,
From Mars to Earth,
Did spaceships give berth?
Ramses' face on Mars,
Pondering Ptolemies from afar,
The Shaman honour singing,
Future and past aligning,
Gazing in wonder amid the stars,
The Shaman and Planet Mars.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
Look at those mountain.
Well, what about them?
Well, aren't they inviting?
Yeah, you could say.
You could also say that they are spaceships.
But they aren't.
And the mountains aren't inviting.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
*Ever look to the night sky beyond tiring windscreen wipers?
They screech, exasperated by an army of droplets hurtling downwards.
Ever lean on the dashboard gazing upwards into the downpour?
Constant and linear; like how stars zoom past spaceships in old movies.
A whole universe of dazzling stars.
That's how she lived; her aura a universe peppered with light.
Light forever radiating towards captivated eyes.
Oh, she loved with a love unparalleled.*
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
Does a wish even mean anything anymore?
It seems that people wish and wish and wish,
More each day and day and day.
But they don’t receive any of their wishes, just more days.
It seems like it’s impossible for a wish to come true anymore.
I’m sitting here in this room and I’m surrounded by is troubled memories.
All these troubled images and feelings.
I look up to the clock and it’s 11:10.
Oh, what a time to be alive.
Because I know in just one short minute,
One little minute,
One rapidly approaching minute,
It will be 11:11.
And that minute seems to last forever.
It is in that minute that the dreamers and the believers and the prayers,
They all become the wishers.
They all wish for better jobs, or better cars, or better tomorrows.
But sadly, no one ever told them that tomorrow never comes.
Tomorrow is just a day away.
But tomorrow will never be here because when you get there it’s Today.
Tomorrow is such a strange thing.
But yet so many people wish for the pain to cease, tomorrow.
For the girl or guy to like us back, tomorrow.
We all wish to find a million dollars on the ground, tomorrow.
We wish, we wish, we wish.
In that minute at 11:11, we spend a lifetime wishing for something that we know we NEED.
We don’t WANT a new car, we NEED one to get to the store to buy groceries for our children.
We don’t WANT that other person to like us back, we NEED them to because we need a hand to hold, lips to kiss, and a shoulder to cry on.
We don’t WANT to find money on the ground, we NEED to because we’re running out of money to pay the bills, money to pay the rent, and money to live.
We don’t wish for things we WANT, we wish for things we NEED.
We need comfort.
We need happiness to come and see the way we’ve been living.
And for it to say “This person needs me.”
I wish we all had our wishes, oh that is what I wish.
Some people look at wishing as Child’s Play.
But I look at it as a lost art that has become unrecognized.
Because there are so many people in the World,
Wishing for a heart that needs healed.
A hand that needs held.
And for stars they need to show so they may keep wishing upon them.
Sometimes, when we wish for a better day, we get a terrible one.
When we wish for more food, we go hungrier.
When we wish for riches, we receive rags.
When we wish for love, we find hate.
Happiness, we find pain.
White, we find grey.
And sometimes we wish for the day but we find the night.
And if it was all up to me, a wish would come true for me and you.
Wishes would be like horses, and gallop toward prosperity.
Those wishes would be like spaceships, and fly to unknown places.
And they would save everyone with good graces.
Wishes would be like cars.
They’d travel oh so far.
Wishes would be like airplanes.
And probably do something that rhymes with airplanes.
Those wishes would save our souls.
Those wishes would make the World whole.
I wish everyone who wishes wishes would have their wishes come true.
I wish pain would turn into serendipity.
Sadness would turn into happiness.
I wish the World would be whole once again.
I would wish for a better today and to never see tomorrow if all it holds is pain.
I’d wish the whole World would be happy again,
And I’d wish you all the best,
But sadly, it’s now 11:12.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
An old angelic poet went flying
one drab and tempestuous night.
Upon the clouds he rested
as the fallen angels were in his sight.
Whence all angel's were together
Serving their mighty God.
Now separated by good and evil
By free will the hellion hadst lost.
Their spaceships were ablazed
And their crown's they wore as king's.
Their wing's we're ivory crystalline
And their thunderous aura like electricity didst ring...
A trace of cherub dust they left behind in the sky
Telepathically knowing, today their wing's shalt fly...
Chorus-
Chariot's roll
Chariot's play
Seraphim riders, in the sky.......
Their countenance unearhtly, their eye's lit
Their batas all drenched by unseen blood.
Their flying hard to get those hellion
But they've lost one of their ship's.
Because it's their duty, to protect the all powerful God
They sweep by force in by million's, with lightning bolts as Rod's.
As the chariot Master's swept by the ghouls
The ghoulies calleth out their names,
The serpahim said to the ghoulies
Go back to hell from whence thou came.
And hellion its to late to changeth thy ways, thou made a bad choice..... So the Hellion's retreated, back to their doom of fiery noise....
Chorus-
Chariot's roll
Chariot's play
Seraphim rider's in the sky,
Serpahim rider's in the sky
Serpahim rider's in the sky......
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
Moon zoos zoos on the moon in white man spaceship zoos on moon,
earth chavs chavs on the earth in a burberry chav ship chavs on the earth,
sun ***** ***** on the sun in racist spaceship ***** on the sun.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
Dreaming during the witching hour’s like
Being under the pink with an icicle
And I don’t wanna go to hell on a technicality
So I dream under the sun
I dream ultraviolet
But then to the human race, I seem to lose the keys
And the rabbits always lead me to gardens of lust
And they’re kidnapping angels on capitol hill
Thought me and the universe had an agreement
But still I’m building spaceships the size of a pill
If you let out your monkey, a butterfly gets framed
Where goes all those who have lost their graces
This tattoo of you is a curse-
a Borneo from the bottom of a bottle
And dreaming during the witching hour’s like
Being under the pink with an icicle
And I don’t wanna go to hell on a technicality
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 1:12 PM UTC
I fell
[through hugs and kisses,
arguments,
Italian takeout,
suits and dresses,
texts at 2 am,
summer karaoke nights,
missed curfews,
coffee,
****** movies,
classic '70s songs,
stairs,
health food and vegetables,
fights,
antagonism,
test scores,
spaceships,
and happiness]
in love.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
here's to the glam rock messiah of outsiders and misfits,
the androgynous man of the stars with the music.
born in brixton,
he traveled the universe by spaceships and soundwaves
with wild hair and one eye dilated.
book-loving and queer,
in love with the thought of turning 50.
the world had never seen a man
living different lives at once,
but here the starman came reinventing himself:
ziggy stardust, thin white duke, aladdin sane, major tom—
all different selves tied together by his heart.
he lived his earthly mission, rightfully so
that even the gravity of the world could not keep him put.
so on and on he strummed his guitar and crawled on stage,
in spaceboots and dresses, in porcelain doll makeup,
reaching out to all the nobody and somebody people
but one day his cosmic vessel
was taken down by a secret sickness
and halted his mission here on earth,
and so the streets and little bars smelling of cigars
were flooded by the ones who mourned,
who looked up to the stars,
wondering where their starman went.
the world had never seen such an electric creature,
but here the star man came in music and dance,
saying it was alright to be weird—
to embrace strangeness
in a world where every earthling wanted to be the same.
and perhaps, he isn't really long gone:
his time here may have ended
but now he is out there, somewhere,
on some distant star,
watching over the Earth as he always has.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
Laugh all you want,
but when I was a kid
I didn't watch
Thriller after dark.
But I danced.
I danced my *** off in that lit living
room
with Joci.
All night long,
popping
and moonwalking.
Now that I'm old(er)
I know how to build spaceships
and I can put
the popcorn
in the microwave
myself.
I can take the popcorn out of the microwave
and watch Thriller all night long.
But
then
my little woodpecker
came.
When I was
Cynical
with power
now and then,
I became
Raw
and uncarved
again.
We dance over the graves all night long.
Our tombstones are smooth
and we make light
together
with our feet.
Little woodpecker
what are you beginning to etch
in me now?
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 8:52 PM UTC
She was old when I first knew her
To an infant, parents are timeless;
Fairy aunts are just… old.
A tiny scarecrow of a thing,
Her eyes glittered; her mouth
Never offered an ill word of anyone.
She was a good woman. She never tired
Of talking about blind Jim – a good man –
With girlish love in her face;
One man, one love, one life
He wove wicker and filled mattresses
And listened to the wireless in the evening.
Her constant thought companion
As so many might-have-been heroes –
Gone, before I could know him.
Christmas would wend round each year,
With Meg as star guest,
Tipsy before the Queen’s Speech,
Whisky rouging her cheeks; fairy lights
Made envious by her laughter,
My mother, and hers, basking in gleelight.
I grew up there, every other Sunday,
Overlooking the Hospital and the Tay
From the safety of her living-room window,
Inventing spaceships and spies,
Dreaming of who I would be,
As my mother and Meg made small-talk.
Month by month, her daylight dimmed.
I never saw it. She was only ever her;
Happy, constant and true.

Afterwards, I learned about the
Vying accountants and surgeons,
Postponing, year and again,
The procedure. She told me, when finally
Her appointment was confirmed,
That when the cataracts were gone,
She was going to buy a ticket
For the number nine circular
And spend all day upstairs,
Just looking out of the window
At the city she’d lived in
For nigh-on ninety years
A week before the operation
Her home-help found her in bed, with Jim;
Smiling as they danced through the daisies.
She seemed no older when she died
Than when I first knew her.
A good innings, they all said.
Not enough.
If only by the length of a bus ticket –
not enough.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 5:27 AM UTC
You are an I in the eye
the eye that hynotizes the essence of I...
And the galaxies par religion will be heaven
and the races not revealed by official networks will be demons
and the elementals and avatars in sacred places will be unearthly beings
the moon will be a rocky orb and not a planet-ship helping a race evolve
the tree will be a plant and not a transporter of energy via energy beams, connecting the underworld with surface humans and life...
And the stars will be ***** of gas and not a picture a thousand years old
a thousand years as planets in those star system are thus ahead of us
and spaceships will be UFO's
and beings from the universal neighbourhood will be aliens
You will be taught to speak in a defined vernacular called language
Your psychic abilities will be reduced via sonic beams emitting negative energy
reduced via products that reduce positive vibration
You will belong to a race, tribe and religion
You will fall into a gender
Your destiny will be death
Money will be a means of exchange
You will not think of Earth as a space, but as a lonely flat plan-et
Powerful families will rule your life
Government will dictate your purpose
Wars will be fought and it will be blamed on oil
You will know only that which you need to know
You will be driven to follow predefined norms and orchestrated systems
You will be watched and never truly feel free
This is the Matrix
The web that imprisons souls...
and slower than the speed of thought you will trail in linear time...
The web that confines your thinking...
and reasoning will only be absolute within logic gates
You will be encouraged to be as one with them as they will be compelled to be one with you
Life will be basic, you will not be aware of the realities and dimensions in the world
Your conscious mind will be wrestled by ego
Your heart chakra will be tainted by emotional scars
You will not see the eye that sees, only what is seen fit to be seen
Only when the dragon has licked you and its friends stabbed you and molested you - will you be free to choose to be free
This is the matrix and you will be made to feel like an orphan
Your immaturity and lack of knowledge will lead you to adverse happenings
"Live and learn", watch as they crash and burn
If you are wise you will learn to yearn
and a fate that is yours will you discern
maybe and only then will you escape the threads and define your own reality.
Welcome To The Matrix
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
My uncle.
Who I love.
Is a peculiar man.
He once told me of the oddest conspiracy.
He said that the reason major governments of the earth don't fight each other constantly, is because the already do.
In space.
Each country has a ship.
Armed and maned to the teeth.
And they just shoot at each other.
Everyday.
And that's how all of the big national disputes were settled.
Star Trek style.
So when I heard this, I tossed my thoughts into the atmosphere.
Letting them swirl and shine among the satellites.
What did they do, up there?
Sitting in their spaceships.
Thinking of each other.
Wondering why they all were stuck in tin can time bombs.
Surrounded by the icy void.
Waiting for their ships to be shot out of the sky.
The debris to fall through children's dreams and shooting stars.
Spitting sparks like ancient dragons.
And these people wait for that.
Hidden from sight and mind.
Only just to shoot at each other.
Over a border, a mans wish, or a loaf of bread.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Nobody no longer contains the desire for unrefinity
The urge to tap into the void smacks of divinity
What exists in its place in the flesh market place
Are bartering skill sets and chocoalte puddings
When confronted by an invisible elephant
The people, in consensus, turn away
This happens within the day to day
The elephants march on, heedless vessels
Turbans floating downstreat, mainstream.
****** babble replaces conversation
Emblamatic gestures infiltrate the realm of the symbolic
The priests have all taken off their underwear
And the women are putting their brasiers
Back onto their chests, underneath their shirts
Blouses are burnt.
Toast is burnt.
Jams are being made by machines, horses do have dreams
Jelly and ice cream make delicate farts
Ghosts live in pipes and buy and sell art
People whose names are Horace or Rupert
Have been decommisioned
And the stories are locked in pie dishes
And the tale remains the same.
Remember, that future archeologists will exist.
Excavating sites will bring us all
To the kingdom of devon
In the beautiful future of documented tales
Which we are building for
Inside the spaceships.
When ponies are invalid and germs become common currency
Know that it will be time to fly your pillow cases as flags
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
spaceships
flying in the air
a twinkle in my eye
as I stare
seeing those things
invisible
I am invincible
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
Secrets, secrets in the bright sky,
Wondering if your ever true or just a lie ?
Little lights in the night can they be stars or spaceships,
How long are you green fella gonna stay for this trip ?
U.F.O passing by as they whirled,
Probably waiting patiently to take over this world.
Absorbing the information about the human races and our planet earth,
Traveling around the galaxies for generations to see if this was wait the worth.
When are you going to invade ?
Because the human races is destroying each others and were starting to fade.
If you don’t like our planet and if you are really true,
All I can say is please take me with you.
By Jacob Cuadro
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
If you’re listening to this right now hoping to hear something new,
Hoping to hear something that might inspire you
Or give you that rush you’ve been looking for…
Just…
Keep looking…
We’ve all said it before...
That we’re looking for something…
That we’re just not sure what it is...
And I think that -for the most part- we deserve that.
That uncomfortable mystery.
I mean…
What’s the point of reading a book if you already know how it ends?
If you knew what you were looking for,
There’s no adventure in the search for it.
So why is it that every time I see a sunset...
My gut reaction is to run away from it?
Like I’m trying to repent for wasting my day but I don’t know why.
It didn’t feel like I was wasting it until it was over and by then…
The sun was already setting.
Let me try to make more sense of this…
So you’re 8 years old.
Not once in those 8 years have you ever worried
That you won’t be enough,
That you won’t amount to anything.
In those 8 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles.
You’ve gone from training wheels to treasure maps.
Streetlights were your curfew
And the sunset never seemed like an ending.
You went to bed that night and woke up 10 years later in a panic Looking for something you lost the day before.
The world was falling apart
And the sun hadn’t even made an appearance yet.
Your spaceships have landed
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends...
The swing set couldn’t get you out of orbit
And you didn’t find what you were looking for
In that hole in the back yard.
You’re 18…
Everything feels like the ending of the story
And you don’t even know the plot yet.
You start drawing treasure maps again
And everyone thinks you’re crazy,
But all you’re really trying to do find is what you lost so long ago
And when they tell you to just retrace your steps…
None of the footprints look like you own.
You start running in reverse.
Whether it be to get away from yourself or who you thought you were, It doesn’t matter.
The point is that you’re looking for something.
You start dusting off old treasure maps and try to revisit the stars.
What once was your castle
Is now just an old blanket next to the couch in the living room.
You start to panic.
Frantically you search for the moment of impact
When your rocket returned home
And the lid of the treasure chest slammed shut.
But you won’t find it.
It’s not there anymore.
You start to notice how empty your gut feels,
Yet at the same time so heavy.
So you’re 18 years old.
You’ve started to worried that you won’t be enough.
That you won’t amount to anything.
In these 18 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles.
You’ve gone from training wheels to taking tests.
Streetlights are no longer your curfew
And every sunset is a different ending.
You’ll go to bed tonight
And wake up 10 years from now in a panic
Looking for something you lost the day before.
The world never stopped falling apart
And the sun hasn’t even made an appearance yet.
Your spaceships have landed
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends...
And I think that -for the most part- we deserve this.
This uncomfortable mystery.
I mean…
What’s the point of reading a book if you already know how it ends?
If you knew what you were looking for,
There’s no adventure in the search for it.
So why is it that every time I see a sunset...
My gut reaction is to run away from it?
Maybe because I know I’m still searching for something
And my time is running out.
And everyday when I wake up,
Panicked,
Looking for something I lost the day before
The world starts falling apart…
But by then…
The sun is already setting.
We’ve all said it before...
That we’re looking for something…
That we’re just not sure what it is…
And at the end of that day,
What you're looking for could be right in front of you,
Plain as the sunset,
But you'll never know unless you keep your eyes open,
And keep looking.
So if you’re listening to this right now hoping to hear something new,
Hoping to hear something that might inspire you
Or give you that rush you’ve been looking for…
Just…
Keep looking…
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix. Beyond time displacement, space and spaceships beyond the reach of human contemplation.
I battled evil spirits when temperatures were frigid with no mittens crossed wooden bridges over rivers just so these words can be delivered.
Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix beyond time displacement beyond the oasis for nothing is complete without every piece.
who's receptive to this message? The tree of life provided me the weapon inside the zodiac divided in sections, categorizing five elements if i wrote this backwards you will still understand my penmanship *****
Lets show them what I see, the letter C, the sea of tranquility, Yemeja proof read this read for me.
Pardon me but i must beacon your attention for more then 10 seconds, this effective mass burial method is so well measured. She calls it the ocean.
I started the trends must I show you again? Normal configurations are dismembered and disconnected self execution methods occur after dawn but before breakfast.
Blood red moon.
Lilith said death is the adjustment to her mood.
Timeless writes rereading keeps you updated destroying frustration **** your favorite this is not a statement but a vibration for those are who are lost but made it..
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******** on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
for Katie
martini of elderflower in a dimly
lit room. 40s tune plays with feminine
harmonies lifting a room. green
tiles and floor lamps, a yellow glow.
alcoves of lounges, retro chairs
contain saturday groups on long
weekend splurges. V glasses, colourful
concoctions, buzz of the mix
in several quiet corners. chatting with
Katie, a beacon in darkness with
infectious regard for pictures and
words. talking planets and spaceships,
a fictional odyssey, silicon storm in
ridiculous glasses. rosemary’s baby, a
theme cocktail infused with thought.
film screen and text gets
the message across. early alarm means
an 8pm ending from hours of
wander and lovely therapy. parting hug
warms a deep fried heart,
plans to disco inferno at a melbourne haunt
in the midst of sydney. donna left,
everyone remembered. amy goes
back to black. records spin. i feel loved
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?
I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?
How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,
or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?
Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.
Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.
Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.
Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.
Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.
Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,
Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.
Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,
And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC