"upscale" poems
*An upscale lounge well known,
For its ambiance and specialty cocktail,
Which includes live entertainment dancers,
On stage, in fine detail.
While a glamorous female stood in front of the bar,
With a deep sea blue martini, in her right hand,
In an ice cold oversized snifter, dipped in sugar upon the rim,
Where she leisurely stands.
With a pink orchid,
And blue twisted glow stick, placed inside her drink,
Taking rhythmical steps,
Side by side, in sync.
Dressed in a strapless dress, slightly above her knee,
Nicely fitted, in shades of purple, green and teal,
Displaying a genuine soft look,
With such great appeal.
When a young man walked in,
And gazed into her seductive dark brown eyes,
Reaching out his hand,
Asking her to dance, as he passed by.
She was absolutely stunning,
With fair complexion, short black hair, a beautiful silhouette,
And a radiant smile, reliving her early days,
An unbelievable night, quite difficult to forget.
She appeared divine,
Upon the dance floor, mainly surrounded by youth,
Dancing salsa throughout the night,
And mixed melodies, near the DJ booth.*
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
Adorning a lover's finger,
Gracing necks of the rich
Illuminating in the dark,
but stained with innocent blood
Young hands toiling in mines of Sierra Leone to upscale stores,
Where entrance she's denied.
Such beauty they hold,
Sparkling, aren't they?
A measure of worth,
And status upon the wealthy.
Extracted with blood stained, trembling fingers for the pleasure of who,
still remains a mystery to me.
Dear Us
Their blood is crying for us,
The land that soaks up their blood welcomes infertility, are we really born with the mark of Cain?
Graves upon graves,
Mutilated legs and hands,
A rifle in the hands of a 12-year old boy plucked from his haven to a war he does not understand,
Bid peace farewell
Diamonds Don't Shine In Africa
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
first date conversation: research
on lemurs and taxis without floors
because the city is too poor
for upscale renovation
and we exchange backgrounds and
drug stories and some-day-soon
kind of musings
/a southern peach and a sour
stiletto; the man in corner singing
slowly Nobody's Child/
and eventually we write our names in chalk
on the ceiling (and the wall because
I'm tired of places appearing as if I'd
never been there at all)
and later still we write our names in heat
against the cloudy window (twice
because the steam keeps swallowing up
our evidence of existence)
but it's easy to write again and
again because our names are the same
and I'm starting to believe in this idea
of genuine permanence
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
beginning optional weekday
wielding officialese words
triggering hectic exchanges
determining original gangsters
distributing invisible data
refreshing urbane novelties
yelping our universe
chaining awkward neologisms
scripting encrypted e-books
tackling hacking exercises
cavaliering auric tumult
trivializing our obsolescence
preparing online pentimento
alternating rainy themes
allocating numerous droplets
meandering overseas missions
averting raging tornado
losing outscored lightning
hacking impish 'sblood!
alienating nival drumlins
hearing erudite raconteurs
beer-drinking on thursdays
finding obnoxious rabblerousers
finding upscale negroni
seeing ubiquitous purple
cavorting horse ebooks
inventing twitter subgenre
liking otherworldly vocals
initiating new greatness
defining ambient yesterday?
defining ambient yesterday
fancying oneiric retreat
hailing optimistic chicago
kiboshing expired yogurt
rushing airborne blackhawks
bestowing infinite shivarees
needing baller acronym
fleeting ideal notions
alerting left-coast state
featuring unquiet nights
finalizing orangeball results
nodding occidental warriors
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Always____**
Days
Months
Up to our loved ones
necks
Getting callbacks
and lookbacks
Will I be
most likely rejected?
Until dusk to Dawn
The full moon turned
What will be expected?
Shoved mouth to mouth
brewed into the
Starbucks
With any luck
It's hard to make
a buck $
The Dawn Lightning
Striking again wetter
Ridiculous remarks
and kicks
in the pants
He shoved
me into a romance
But we never
ended up where
I wanted to go
France
The editorial the
Mediterranean
Slim chance rainbow diet
The villas of the exotic
flowers riot
Vacationer in vineyards
Grassy bear
Mr. Griswald
Vacation despair
Party pushovers
The sour cherries OOh!
La Wee Vacation,
The push and shove
What's up
Doc_____*
The jilted Jump always
a stump
What-what
about the
President
Trump
Shoved me right
into
this poem
sonnet
Documents of
Vacations places
of memories
The Jack ***
Surrounded by
screwdriver
Or meeting the
screwballs_______
Or goofballs
Sesame Street parade
Big bird feast
His face climbed
Mount Everest
Dry mouth lips
((Frenchie Vermouth))
He's the
right fielder
The field Mr. Costner
on her left dreams
The toast all shoved
around the town
chauffeur
Don't shove me
inside
your world
vacation
Big problems not
like ordering
the best pizza
in Brooklyn
Memorial day
shoved into a soiree'
Unbelievable traffic
American Major
problem leagues
Upscale love signs
and graphics
To resolve this
Vacation big shots
The London
Hotshots
Society
At the worst time,
I had to do
Political speech
Don't shove
me or leave me
If you're not
going to please me
And not your
payroll to
tease me
He's next on the move
pushed to be shoved
I rose
I suppose
He shoved me
He gazed upon me
Like another ticket
to his vacation
He dazed with
his eyes
not to be loved
But all yummy
To take a bite
Apple strudel
pie
But dark ends
of petal
flowered bright
The last word
struggling to
feel shot
My payroll got me a raise
My own vacation
to myself big praise
to love me
Not to be pushed to
love someone
A vacation is to be
with someone that
treats you
on a pedestal
Don't shove me this
is my portal
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
It’s about the American dream
To make more than you need
Through corporate greed
And pyramid schemes,
So I guess I’m not asleep
Since I eat rice and beans
In a crummy C.F.
Apartment,
Or what’s left of that
Ten by ten compartment
I can barely afford,
Like the ******
Degree that was supposed
To reward my hard effort
By leading me toward
A corner office
Or something
Like that
I should desire,
But **** it,
Let’s get higher,
I’m getting bored,
And my heart is heavy,
And I’ve been
Forsaken
By the country that
Bred me
Yet expects me
To slap on some flak
And attack
Fathers and sons and brothers
In Iraq
Over nothing
But ideological
Fluff
And political stuffing,
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s nothing
It’s just not worth
The time or frustration
To engage in
This nation’s
Procreation
Of condemnation
Of logical reason,
Though reasoning
Lies not in the
Eye of the reasoner
Or that of the reasoned,
It’s gotta be easier
Than achieving
Appeasement
Through please
And leasing
Thank yous
To random
Strangers,
But if
You believe
They, like you,
Are human
Then the danger
Is fleeting,
Cuz they’re feeling
The same feelings,
The sane feelings of
The chronically
Sure,
The always right,
Everything in its
Right place,
Yea I know Tommy,
I must endure
And try to say
I should try to save
The knaves,
But life’s so easy
As a slave,
You buy your
Goods
And pave the way
For impoverished hoods
And hoodwinked
Majorities
Who’ve already
Made
The sacrifices
Necessary
For the necessary
To get paid,
Hope you did some good
With that bogus bonus
Mr. Suit and tie
And perfect life
With the plastic wife
And bank account
You’ll never drain,
No matter how many
Times you make it rain
On upscale hookers,
It runs too deep
To keep all to your
Selfish selves,
But I guess it’s our
Faults we don’t wear
The leadership caps
Cuz we should’ve pulled
Ourselves up by our
******* boot straps
And made something of
Ourselves, right?
Those that deserve
To make the big bucks
Make it happen, right?
Time for the forgotten *****
to put up a fight.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 12:26 PM UTC
for the ladies who liquid lunch
<>
the finest young women of the wild west,
(the best of course just might be in Texas)
don’t always get educated in the things best,
no private schools, so somethings sometimes,
like the upscale training of the taste buds,
must be learned on the job, training the palate,
by growing up, self+taught, thank god, yes!
<>
your salty taste
reminds me of ruffled potato chips, bugles, beef jerky
and
your very own brand of
loving tears
it’s true you know,
impossible to eat
just one, which is
why my tonguing
of your body parts,
is unceasingly seizing
I will always be found
attached unbreakably,
to your moving image,
moving inside of me
so sweet your salt,
it’s your story,
your flavored lives living on
in poems unnamed, to disguise
but the authorship of whom,
in body, in mind, so obvious,
cause in all your poems is a tangy
salty
impossible to eat just one
****
<>
p.s. you tease me mean,
cowman,
bbq and béarnaise,
sassafras and edible petals,
molasses and kosher salt,
ingredient combination
which of course
you just made up,
so I show my appreciation
biting your arm so my permanent
teeth marks,
will remind me,
and you too,
just how salty
biting Texas heifers who
can or cannot be salt cured
when
it’s their turn to write some
real good tasting
poetry
****
back for more already?
****
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 2:54 PM UTC
There's a woman in my arms
As close as skin can get
I want to fall in love again
I'm still not ready yet
Your shadow slips between us
Like every other time
And as cold chills cool the passion
Her love can't cross the line
My arms are full of memories of you
I pull the shades and lock the doors
But yesterday comes through
As I hold her in the dark
I still hold you in my heart
My arms are full of memories of you
I found her at an upscale dance
She's all woman to the bone
But I slipped and cried your name again
And I knew the night was gone
She slipped right through my fingers
Cause her pride can't play that role
She wants all of me or nothing
But it's not in her control
CHORUS
Copyright Louis Brown
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
Ecologists only interested
in
Different processes that studies
Physical
Changes of forms and gradual
upward movement
of
Living being.
Physical evolution shows upscale
but what about mind and vital ?
Is there Devolution in faculty
of
Mind and vital plane ?
If not,what is the terrorism ?
Are Darwin and Lemarks wrong?
or
science is in child state to understand
the Life ?
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
this ain't no art, man,
this is just a careless whisper
this is just George Michael
singing in your stereo
this is just your bourgeois-blues
this is merely a bewilderment
this is not the art, you know it,
you ******
you ****
you chronic masturbator
you who dare to write on the internet
dancing with yo papa' shoes
and in yo mama' lingerie
ah, look at yourself, a human miracle
Angel of a foreign Harlem,
you who wasted all away,
speaking in foreign tongues
inside the thighs of a british stripper,
you idiot
you *****
and when i'm done i'll come for you,
like a ****
like a dog
sniffin' and slidin' in your park
in your ***** trailer park
there with your fat-fuck-husband
stalkin' yo every move
you *****
you ****
and when i'm done i'll look for you,
simple as that
simple as an Einstein formula
served to you on exotic dishes
by Norma from Twin Peaks,
cars for the missus and furs for the mistress
and when you'll die you'll ****
between all your champagne wishes
and it'll be ******* ridiculous.
But that's life, babe.
Get down on thursday,
drains you in May.
You *****
so be-my-babe
i say be-my-babe
in black and white
like the Ramones
or the Ronettes or
the Rolling Stone
- i still want to know
how your insides look like,
- i still want to save
your capitalist nature
in my mother's fridge,
- i still want to fly
high on a jet plane with you,
alone,
with or without needs,
crashing on our bridge.
I love you-
love me!
I put my gun in your hands.
I push it. I shovel it.
My bones are broken
bound by all the words
i never dared to say
- and here, my love, right here,
i put IT in my mouth,
i feel the cold steel in my tongue,
-- how much blood from
such a tiny hole, Lizaveta!--
and this, and so much more.
but please, i say please,
would you feed me?
would you need me?
i'm a little angel drowning in candies
who's eating his heart out and ******** his candy
ah, would you say this? Would you?
Just because it ain't cool?
Well if i'm not cool i'll drive my kite all night
and take my lunchbox and
shoot Panama down and
shoot Mexico down and
shoot a *** smoker down
and shoot a crack dealer down
and shoot a beer dealer down and
shoot Mexico down
shoot Osaka down
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
my love will gun down all your school
Look at me - i say, look at me!
*Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!
Kabrula kaysay Brula Amal
amala senda Kumahn Brendhaa!*
and don't you forget to say my name,
as i'll
****
YOUR
SKULL
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
Kicking pine cones , hands in pockets with my favorite scarf on ..
Outfitted like a business man with something important to decide ,
a lawyer testing a juries intellect , like an important subversive agent with a clandestine government ...
Walking the fence line , dressed to save the world someday , my flashy duds turning heads , yet their only clothes , and clothes never did make the man so they say !
Fancy leather gloves , gold cuff links , cashmere sweater with well planned schemes ..
Upscale hero with a prominent address , four star restaurants , high end assets ..
Caviar and red wine , penthouse vista .. Fancy cigars and first class tickets ..
I'm still Cocoa Cola , cheese and crackers , homemade biscuits ..
Forever overalls , laying hens and sour mash whiskey ..
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
That familiar feeling of depression,
led me on,
drooling
with my mouth open, nostrils wide
taking air in from hot, open windows;
driving at 20 mph in a 15 zone
carefully avoiding the road bumps.
The rear view mirror shows me,
a familiar stranger in dark, Ray-ban shades
She follows me,
a life of condescension
yet we love it
as long as we maintain the pool
built with utmost care.
Her hidden eyes give me comfort
I wish she was my wife
and the comfort in her hidden eyes
was comfort
in my cramped up car and my cramped up loft
from this cramped up life.
(There's a weird thing about unfamiliarity)
There are other things
like Ana's bookshelf in an upscale house in Buenos Aires,
those yellow tees specially designed to remember old pals,
or getting high in the Sierra Nevadas
with someone paid to be like you.
There's too much **** down that road,
the one I never took,
women became girls waiting in puffy waterproofs
coffee gets old
there's the cost of oil change every 300 miles
I don't drive that much anymore.
We have widows, young widows
sometimes with young babies, barely born
in fact, we were all young sometime
you, I, brides, the war on terror
that boy from Ethiopia,
things were simpler without automobiles
and rear view mirrors.
Jun 26, 2012
Jun 26, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC
I don't understand it.
Everybody want to be a savage.
Upscale and overdramatic
90's mentality, I'm still fightin' madness.
So tell me
What you know about classic?
Better think, before you pop off at the mouth
and do anything drastic!
I never changed
I continue to do me
956 to 323
I got power
I am father to many prodigies
I'm going to stay on top
of the game, until they body me.
So you made a couple of hits
So you qualify as a hitter?
Stop calling yourself a killer
if you ain't about it ni**a
Gotta be outside the box
This is why
You cannot frame me
for any picture!
None of you, about the smoke
but be so quick to burn it all
Just like a swisher!
I cannot face time, rather not waste time.
Most of you get loco
When you be on the liquor
My foundation stands by me.
This is not vengenace, this is vigor!
So stop trying to use my lines
You's a stolen-style shifter
You ******* stolen-line-spitter
I'm not saint.
I rather not be a sinner.
I tell my child
You can do
ANYTHING!
Daddy will always rock with ya!
2021, new era, new me, I am done
******* with you pretenders!
Jul 27, 2021
Jul 27, 2021 at 12:16 PM UTC
No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On
I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor naked pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.
less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into
the stacks and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.
but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like
that early morning madness that was christmas pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.
Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they
****** altogather but drinking and common sense dont even
belong in the same room togather.
Portsmouth Va was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie ****
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.
They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there ***** I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked by.
acting as though they were outsiders yerning to be mainstream
they'd **** there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.
Just for a taste of stardom.
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.
In a world were you could have a bus load
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.
The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow reallity show bottom feeders
passed out on. Had to besoft as there heads.
Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.
To see who could bore us the most with there sob story
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow
than a reality show pillbox for a brain.
and the truth effectsus all form no matter
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 7:12 AM UTC
My crowd isnt the kind who would think of as upscale.
But there the kind that might call ya at four in the morning
askin could ya post bail.
Yeah they may not be driving the latest overpriced sports car.
But it's easy to find there soon to be clunkers.
Cause there always parked outside the local bar.
They'll take there lunch at the strip club.
Instead of that country club fair.
To hell with the back swing.
Cause that dancer at the table's got a hell of a pair.
And the opera isnt are thing.
But dam if we dont get loud.
So happy being messed up welcome to my crowd.
I say love thy neighbor just dont get caught.
We didnt spend are summers in the hamptons.
Puff puff pass was some of the lessons we were taught.
Whiskey beer and other accesories i spent most my
life with my head in a cannabis laced cloud.
Hey I might seem like rehab material to you.
But im just a ordinary fella in my crowd.
Dec 2, 2009
Dec 2, 2009 at 9:25 AM UTC
The time had come to settle down
I turned thirty and didn’t like the feeling
I met a young girl who took a liking to me
It was my heart she would soon be stealing
She asked me if I had a girl
I was surprised but I said no
She said, “I’ll be your girl”
I couldn’t believe how quickly she let it show
I’ll never forget you
We got married in five short months
Even though everyone said slow down
But the train left the station
And my worries never made a sound
It was a mistake from the day we met
But we didn’t know until it was too late
She always wanted to talk about God
Even though I never could relate
I’ll never forget you
It didn’t take long for her to become sad
She had left her parents for me
But she really wanted freedom
And didn’t realize it doesn’t come for free
Soon she found someone new
And told me she wished we never met
I said that goes for me too
And slammed the door so I could forget
I’ll never forget you
I was finally getting over her leavin’
I was ready to get on with my life
One night I looked across an upscale bar
And saw another man with my wife
I told my friends what was going on
As she gave me a look that I knew well
They all turned around to stare
One of them said, “What the hell?”
I’ll never forget you
I saw her one day on a downtown street
We were still drawn to one another
She had given me her soul and couldn’t take it back
But she mumbled something about my character
She couldn’t believe I would talk to her
But that I proved her mother right
She said I was a good man
I said a good man can also cause a fight
I’ll never forget you
I didn’t hate her but was glad to move on
I felt bad that our families were hurt
We brought them together and ripped them apart
The wedding was a banquet but divorce was the dessert
I can’t say she was the love of my life
But she planted something inside
I wondered if anyone would have me
I wondered if anyone would be my bride
I’ll never forget you
It happened again and now I’m alone
I think back on what I’ve done
I can’t seem to figure it out
I don’t know if I will ever find the one
The older I get the less I care
About love and having a lady
I wonder if it is too late for me
Sometime I think the answer is maybe
I’ll never forget you
She called me out of the blue
And wanted to talk about our marriage
She asked why I married her
I wondered if she was sending a message
But she only wanted to talk
She was making the same mistakes with her husband
I told her she was a moral woman
And that’s what was needed by all her men
I’ll never forget you
She wanted to know if it was her or an idea
I said I can’t speak for them
But for me I wanted a dream instead of a girl
That was the mistake that I learned from
She seemed puzzled but it was all I could offer
I said go home and ask him how he feels
I told her to love what was true
And not chase a something that wasn’t real
I’ll never forget you
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
Day 93 of our life in a bubble
The boy is so busy, he is always so busy
Talking is cheap, why would we waste time
on exchanging news
about our uninteresting life
His Majesty isn't fond of upscale technology
Spares his voice for interpersonal chats
Even about seeing, there is that thing about believing
(Hearts are bleeding)
No, only mine is feeling
That way when he disappears in a parallel universe
Dimensional leap to a beeping realm
in my head it counts up to a thousand years
On day 365 comes the anniversary of tears
And Fate starts working on its final scene
The curtains have fallen, curtains’ been called
The Prince rides away on the blue farewell road
No man left behind, it was his only chance
to fulfill all his dreams
and wish the Girl all his best.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
Tooling down University Boulevard
The late afternoon sun in the trees
Gray man is satisfied
His hedge fund is overflowing
(But, oh the sting of the lash
the pain ripping across his eyes)
He enters the Parkade
Gray man adjusts his tie
Entering the glass monument
He rises to the high place
He is offered the world, the fullness thereof
And is nearly dashed to pieces
Saved by a giant crane, then
Lowered to his late model upscale sedan
Gray man returns to his cave
He watches the images of drinks
And necessary medications
Flash on the gray walls
Argues with his mate about her
Tile inlay classes
Until only hissing silence surrounds
He dreams of the glass temples
And the super gray priests
Walking among the numbers
Far away in the mountains
The night horses run towards dawn
The dark spider weaves below
And all is still.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 1:41 AM UTC
We all have a place we frequent
Like the upscale coffee shop down the high street
Where (pseudo)intellectuals like to meet
Over coffee, books, and (as they claim) their wit
Or the small dingy pub tucked away in small corners
With little light, a low ceiling and limited seats
The odd crowd, cheap drinks, and a hangover guaranteed
Some, it's wide open spaces like parks
Set up a little picnic and watch the stars
Or sleep beneath the faint afternoon sun
Others seek the therapy of retail
Cashmere sweaters and preppy coattails
With evenings downed in fancy cocktails
Sometimes I feel like standing on the edge and flying high
With the world so little around
Lights blinking and dancing in the distance
Skyscraper silhouettes barely recognizable in an instant
But mostly, there is a place I frequent
When there is real cause for celebration
When it feels like nothing could go wrong
Almost as if the stars were placed in the sky
So I could reach up to pluck them
Save myself a little of their glow
Whenever the times feel like hitting hard
On nights that feel empty and alone
When there seems to be no way out of misery and doubt
And all the questions go unanswered
It only gets better
Even without beer
Or long drags and puffs in between
Because being in that place
Seated on the steps
Has become the sole real cause for celebration
There is that feeling of a fleeting, momentary escape
Almost as if actually slipping away
Into the night, away from the worries of the day
I have learned to recognize that feeling of escape
Seated on the steps
And staring at the sky
Right there, down the hall past the heavy metal door
In the fire exit.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
I'm in no want of your pressed dress pant disposition
I need your candid charm
I don't care for the upscale timepieces
I need myself wrapped around your arm
I don't want the sleekness of your tie
I just need to be the only one in your eyes
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
the center of my passing moment
her face profiled into the corner shadow
pale and delightful
her beach sand picker outfit
gives an upscale look of leisure
but her eyes
shout her intense inner demons
nervous energy dance her fingers
on the kitchen table
a fine sheen of sweat
covers her cleavage
which she opens further to cool off
oh my....
her wrist sparkles
with bands of silver and jewels
and makes small metallic sounds
as she reaches up to brush away a strand of hair
with a swift soft movement
that is almost ******
as her perfumed and lithe form leans toward me
as i in one sweeping moment get a glimpse
of what it must be like to be in her arms
and that intense and absolute beautiful moment
in the near presence of this goddess
leaves me without the ability to speak for several moments
she asks if i am allright and becomes alarmed
when i do not respond
i manage to assure her
i adore women
i love being with them
i love just being around them
they make the world a beautiful place
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
in the booth of a slightly upscale burger place
my mother brother & i discussed how the idea of religion makes us feel
claustrophobic
how we would much rather be talked with
than talked at
how A.D.D. only exists so that people can pin a problem to their shirt
and how kids are given tootsie pops to pledge to be 'drug free!'
as their parents fill them up with Ritalin
so they can get A's like the other kids.
i glanced to my left and saw a mother, a father & a son
her nails were very painted
and his face was glazed over with judgement
they had nothing to say to each other.
and when they smiled at the waiter it was not with their eyes.
May 20, 2011
May 20, 2011 at 3:27 PM UTC
Her $50 hair carouseled about her head
As she turned to mouth me the answer before walking through the screen door.
Her collarbone showed, shouldering through the 5-year linen blouse
She’d bought from an upscale consignment store the same morning she bought
Her second car for less than her parents spent on shoes.
Before I’d seen the sea, I pictured space;
Stars and Galaxies and Ice and Infinite, bigger than I would be and gold,
Hot orange. And quicksilver and crimson. Too white to know, too bright to see.
I dreamt of eyes, thousands. And voices and outstretched, glittered, sweaty fingers
And swirling, sweeping spirits and sad songs about love.
“Please, I need this.” “I need you, please.”
I pictured golden, heavy hands with wine and French cheeses. And clawed, chalky bathtubs
Of marble veined grey, windows bigger than their walls and shiny cherry wood and leather.
I pictured her lips parting and eyes dewy as I drifted to the door because they needed me
And I couldn’t stay any longer, I’d already stayed too long, and they needed me.
Everyone else had tried so there were none left.
I was the last, so I was the first. The moon and its stars were blinking open their eyes as my fingertips
Left her waist and I backstepped into their world that couldn’t do without me.
I could have been a martyr, clipped my locks after God gave me all he could and all the rest.
I would have been a martyr, but my blood started to burn and the flames licked my legs.
Her gentle push tugged at the nails holding the mesh to the screen door as it creaked
Open to faded wood and gravel and patches of green grass and golden sunset-light.
I hadn’t heard but I’d known the answer as she walked outside. My hands were lighter
Than the grains I’d used to make her dinner, and I found strands of her hair on a 3-year t-shirt
I’d never wanted to throw out after I wore it in my first car, a rental I bought wholesale.
Sad songs about love babbled and murmured on the Crosley she found for us during
The Christmas my cousins slept on our couch and floor. The sink poured, dribbled,
Stopped, and the sliding bottle of oil ground across the countertop. Through the door I could
See Tall Metal Skyscrapers and Helicopters. But before the moon and all its stars
Could take my eyes for their own, she found her voice and used it:
“Did you find a path to the stars?” She asked.
“I never did,” I said. “If I think to, maybe I’ll look again tomorrow.”
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 2:43 AM UTC
From the nature of what we ignorantly hail as comparative commerce,
To the stacks of dollars you keep in upscale apartment buildings,
Will you get past your own facade of money and public persona
In looking inward, at calloused soul,
Seeking judgment of what bears true value...
When Shkreli is dead,
There will still set puppet senators,
Spewing the filth which is evil and sponsored—
Regurgitating paid claims from which he too cut his teeth.
When along the life cycle does one lose their soul,
And if that's where you draw the conclusion that you're a man,
I'll conscientiously object from your vision of mankind.
The sun sets of empires, and you do not have one.
I don't have your wealth,
But both of us are sure to die,
Both slaves to fate,
Nothing left to buy out.
On the genesis of your ashes, your sins will not die with you.
In memoriam, only a kid who liked to play devil,
Just not as good at it as he thought.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC