"zag" poems
all aluminum alloy ammo
bane bat brakes badly basters back bones
come call cthulhu Cristo cuz
dead ********** dominate de download
even elven eternal endowments
fail frivolously flaming for fair fraudulence
grant good goggles give grandiose gratuity
how hella homeboys have how he has
If I ignore I implicate its implore
jack jacks jacks
kay killla kooks krack
LAPD locks la lackeys
maybe mom made mad monoxide
no, no natural nix NOx neutralizes
oh over overt opp only overlay orphic
please protest politely panic pretenses perpetuity
quiet quivers quiet queens
remember rage reaps reciprocity
so sour sits supplanters sat
to tell them to tare trail *** tat?
universal unhappiness underlays under us
victory validates victors vanity
why warble when winners wont waste worry wanting
x-axis x-rays Xerophagy Xanax Xanthorroea
you yodel yonder yet yahweh's yells Yarrish
zero zag zealots zoos
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 4:40 AM UTC
Seasonal construction
Path of destruction and rebuild,
Traffic crazy, in the car ahead,
Face yelling at a speaker phone,
Zig-zag path like the road owner,
3:05 late so a five o'clock date,
And a seagull sits right on the line,
Patient Mockery so sublime,
The seagull "walks the line"
Waiting can be a hating game,
That would be a vacation shame,
shame,
Shame.
So now the seagull is not alone on the line.
©DWE092013
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
Au(Or)al Tune
When (O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity knocks –
Ah, pour that tune into me
n(O)t
just write or speak
but
/zIg:zAg/
gut--
--teral mut--
--ter yarns
With
Mouth-churn--
--ing-beat-lick--
--ings.
Half-grown seedling ([her]bal:e(X)ssen(10)ces)
into sm(O)ke
adolescent (O)re worn from being p(o)(o)r—
it was nE(X)CESSary for:
battles
birds
beats
b(O)(O)ks
bottles
bucks
b(O)nes
boys
being(bad)
sm(O)ke-rings w(ear)y with surr(end)er
stripped
v(O)wel
for
v(O)wel
thr(OU)gh the yawn: (O)nly
“(O)h.”
(O)h
… foll(O)ws
the
You’re w(or)th-knowing-ONLY-(O)nce
type of l(i)ke.
VERSE/VERSUS: the
You’re-w(or)th-knowing-AT:LEAST-(O)nce
type of l(i)ke
VERSE/VERSUS:
for (u)s
it’s the worst type of verse
when it’s
them:VERSUS:us
(verses)
likewise -- (O)r worse --
it should really be about//
a bad in (u)s: Y(O)U:ME
(O)h after a
kn(O)ck
(O)h after a
t(u)ne:://
(end)-verse
for worse – it’s an
(end)-versus-us
type of verse.
(O)ppo(u)rtun(e)ity
pouring
ringing e(X)cesses
like
ear-worms to
hear words to
heat hearts.
Ah::rest that mouth-verse onto me.
(restful//fluster)
Ah::rest that mouth
(silent//listen)
soulless gall(O)w r(u)ng
lipless v(O)wel sl(u)ng
like
ARTS::between::STARS
then
VOICES RANT ON::into::CONVERSATION
then
PAYMENT RECEIVED::yet::EVERY CENT PAID ME
worst-verse:
Y(O)u//like hanging
your dipTH(O)NGS
on (O)pportun(e)ity’s d(O)(O)r
like
sm(O)ke-rings
like
being(bad)
like
Y(O)U:ME
like
(O)h. n(O).
(end)-verse:
worst-verse:
L(I)ttle.Kn(O)wn.V(O)wel::
n(O)(O)se big for (u)s
ALL.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
The listening stopped a while ago.
It’s like the monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just didn’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears.
It wasn’t always like that, though.
You used to deliver information to my being like you were the great Giving Tree.
And I was a nearby flower.
A delicate, nearby flower.
A flower that went about its normal routines, such as photosynthesis or pollination or other flower things.
Ah, those flower things.
To me they are everything.
This flower would blossom in the spring and wither in the winter.
I would spend my flower days in the summer breathing in the glowing sunlight and living my flower life.
And in the fall, I would spend my flower nights rocking in the breeze, waiting for winter to come and bring me my renewal period.
I would look with my flower eyes toward you, the great Giving Tree.
Tall and ***** like the unstoppable force.
And I, there on the ground, the immovable object.
Your knowledge was so delightful at first.
It lit up my surrounding flower world more than the Sun ever could.
Your knowledge would come at all hours of the day, no matter rain or shine.
I remember once a long time ago when I was a little, tiny flower.
It was raining on my little tiny flower head.
But you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The rain that would beat pitter-patter on my pedals.
The water that would run down my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak up the water my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
And then there was the time when I was an older, bigger flower.
The Sun was shining on my older, bigger flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
The sunlight that shine zig-zag on my pedals.
The shadow that would cast from my stem.
You with your knowledge would tell me “Soak in the sunlight my son. You need as much as you can hold.”
And I did just what you said.
Because I knew you were an unstoppable force, and could never be wrong.
And I, as the immovable object, would never let something stop me.
But now I am a current, normal flower.
The world is passing by my current, normal flower head.
And you knew what to tell me, great Giving Tree.
You with your knowledge….
Said nothing to me, your son.
I didn’t know what to take in.
So I did just what you didn’t say.
And I just kept watching the world float by you, great Giving Tree.
You, the unstoppable force.
And I just kept watching the world float by me, the delicate flower.
Me, the immovable object.
And for the rest of our days you said nothing to me.
You don’t pass your knowledge to me, your delicate flower son.
Your immovable object.
And I stop listening to you, my great Giving Tree.
My unstoppable force.
The monotonous sounds spewing from your mouth just don’t meet the qualifications of entering my ears anymore.
The relationship we had has faded away.
But I had a feeling neither of us would win when we first met.
“Because you know what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object.”
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
A sudden evening rain over the rice fields,
memories wake up from deep sleep
of long years, take a walk once again
along the narrow ridge parting green fields
on a rain soaked evening of yore.
She, a jaunty young woman had changed
the quiet world of a village boy
with big curious eyes, just in few minutes.
his innocence, vanished a yearning
for something unknown until then,
started its torment
love, dabbed its fragrance
on his being with its slight of hand,
a spell cast over him made his head spin
like he drank heady wine, how strange!
Under her spread umbrella he came
by chance, only once in his life
walked with her till the door
on his way to the temple of Krishna
for the evening worship,
walking along the zig zag, slippery path
had he slipped a bath in slush was assured.
When the rains came unannounced,
rushing ,with her anklets clanging
frogs spiritedly croaking,
all this mingling with
the orchestra of myriad insects,
she came as if from nowhere,
from a wild growth of banana plants
on one side, down to his path.
She smiled at him as if she knew him well
a lush young woman, who took him by his hand,
brought him closer to the protective
wrap of her sari, that smelled lemons and oranges,
that fragrance remains sweet in memory,
was it jasmine scent from her long black tresses,
that made him feel that the world has suddenly
become, a place, full of luminance,
has he quickly grown up to her age?
She didn't ask him questions,
called his pet name surprising him
about that knowledge of her;
that made him think that
she was someone so close once,
but forgot as he grew up.
Reaching in front of the temple,
she gave just a wistful look,
and vanished from his life for ever.
Not even aware that she just gave,
the best fragrant moments
for a boy on the first step to adulthood,
he stood looking her go on her way.
When he look back and remember,
this delusion, he realizes, stays with him:
"I am under your umbrella ever since"
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
When the guests arrived we would hasten to sit in separate rooms.
Quick to cover and observe deep voices through walls,
Men with domed hats and flowing kameez would arrive and wait
for steaming chaaval,
brought in a mound topped with cloves.
Dishes placed and eyes down, they would acknowledge with
half nods,
hairy knuckles to pour the saalan over geometric bowls.
My aunts would hush in the kitchen,
pinning their scarves in a zig-zag fashion.
The colours burning from the tiles,
watching them made me dizzy and inside
I longed
that my plait would one day thread gold like theirs.
Timed silence was a key,
and a pyramid that was never fell,
unlike the tasks that could be
stitched to your hands,
structured stiff – like a testing lap.
Boiled milk in china cups,
there would be nods, gap-tooth smiles, low chatter
with ears pricked to
the humming of satisfaction within.
Sounds through division that showed that yes,
in the right hands
the colours could burn brightly,
and that yes,
in a brush of joint henna,
we would stand separate from your
Vision of us.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
*Afternoon octaves from a Raspberry arbor ,
streaming with Honeybee delight , fledgeling
Cardinals hopping from branch to branch ,
Rubies pause then pose , streak away in zig-zag
flight
Bluejays crack acorns on cobblestone drives ,
Red wasp , Swallowtails and Cuckoo bees dance
in warm light , Cinnamon coated fawns dance
the forever fields of soybeans , Sugar Magnolias
stand tall in Purple clover dreams*
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
This one time, my mom
and I said goodbye
to Juan's mom and we
walked from her apartment
to wait for the elevator.
Mom didn't like it
when I wouldn't stand still-
sometimes she'd smack me
upside my head just to
make sure I was there
(accompanied by her
motherly calls of malcriado)-
so I'd look in any direction
for a distraction or two.
Through the window a few feet
from my left, I could see two
older ladies in curler hairdresses
bochinchando like caffeinated hens
about the awfully friendly suelta
living next door to gallina #1
(they hung their hand-me-down
nightgowns and their husband's
boxers with such professional care;
if any article escaped the grasp
of family clotheslines, it was
roadkill forever).
I turned to the right
of the elevator doors,
counted the tar-black patches
of decade-old gum on the floor,
finished the half-written
sentences sprayed in *****
rainbows on the sweaty walls
by the zig-zag flight of stairs.
A boom and a click,
and the door creaked open
with the sideways grace
of a crab.
My toddler's impatience
boiled past the brim, I
exclaimed "FINALLY"
and began to walk forward.
Not a second later, I heard a
"NO" behind me, my mother
grabbing the back of my
cartoon mouse t-shirt,
letting out an ay cono, pendejo
that echoed eight stories down,
past the empty space substituting
for an absent elevator shaft,
soaring down that rusty freefall
at ten thousand times the
speed of a human boy's body.
Letting out a long exhale,
my mother did not allow
her emotions to brim over
the barrier-she recomposed
herself, all the while silently
chanting hymns of gratitude
in dedication to fate
and her reflexes.
We decided to take the stairs.
In my youthful oblivion,
I noticed a toy store
right outside the building
from the corner of my eye-
I plan to start begging when
we're at the bottom,
if we ever get there.
My mother took her sweet time
walking down those many steps,
reveled in the scratchy bristle
of the concrete against her sandals,
cultivated a newfound admiration
for my atonal imitation of a
Washington Heights car alarm-
it was a sign I was still there.
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC
Dont talk to me about sense-vense -
do you, or do you not?
tell me this much;
Don't go zig-zag, jibber-jabber,
zither; look I don't care of
money-shoney,
this caste-vaste, mummy-daddy
and the society;
We could might never deny this,
pow-wows cannot measure this,
do you, or do you not?
That is, is all there is.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
I close my eyes
Silently I listen
A voice that's vanished
That will sound forever
The voice that will always slingshot
The poetic words
Of the nightingale
Into the world
For a second I start to dream
I forget
What I saw
When my eyes were still open
Ik sluit mijn ogen
Zwijgend luister ik
Een stem die is weggestorven
Die voor eeuwig zal klinken
De stem die voor altijd
De poëtische woorden
Van de zanger
De lucht inslingerd
Even droom ik weg
Vergeet ik
Wat ik zag
Toen mijn ogen nog open waren
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
I want to be in a love like this forever.
With your eyes grazing my skin,
Following your circling fingertips.
You touch me in a way, so delicately,
So lovingly, like you actually care.
Your kisses that you place on my forehead
As I’m drifting off into paradise
Remind me what spring love is supposed to look like.
The grass under my toes pull me into the present
While we dance across the lawn with our hands intertwined.
Butterflies zig zag across my vision and you spin me around.
The music drowns out all of our other problems.
And life feels beautiful.
When I’m in my sundress and
You’re watching me from our picnic blanket
You tell me you love me, and my heart begins to flutter.
The last days of cold are erased by your beautiful laugh
The warmth of sunlight and the soft cool breeze
Further pushes our passion and solidifies our feelings.
You grip my waist and lift me into the air.
Time feels rosy and fair, while the birds chirp and call.
With no real agenda, without the controlling menace of time.
We hold hands and spend the afternoons enjoying the bliss.
The newly bloomed flowers and reappearance of green
Feels like a long awaited, highly anticipated surprise
As does our relationship.
We take in the pink skies together,
Hoping we will never have to say goodbye,
Affectionately kissing one another.
Knowing this is a time we will always miss.
Spring, is a time for new beginnings.
It is the perfect time, for a love like this.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
Following breadcrumbs of hope down a zig zag path
Through the Forest of Destiny
Glimmers of wishful sunlight
Transform the ominous foliage
Painting castles in the sky
My fairytale writing its own chapters
With every twist and turn
Watchful for Wolves
Who threaten to devour my optimism and **** my passion
Evil Queens who show me ripples of ugliness in a mirror
Held too close my face
Searching for the Prince who's kiss will
Awaken me from the nightmare and
Hold my hand as we walk forward
Towards Utopia
Everlasting in this fiction
I'm clinging onto aspirations of a better life
Dreaming in technicolor of
Another new beginning
Sailing in a pea - green boat through the perfect storm of these emotions
With a one way ticket through this looking glass
It's time to write
A Happy Ending!
(C) Pixievic
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
When you were five
Your mom told you you could do anything
That you could reach new heights
That the stars were just a mile marker
Your life was just beginning
That you were unstoppable
My pep talk was a little different
You see no matter how high my heart soared
My body was scarred
My mamma said you can walk today
That sitting up won't feel as bad today
That the scar down my back was my beauty mark
That one day it may even be my trademark
Well that might be true mamma but i don't need a trademark i need a childhood
One full of sticky fingers and princess stickers
One of training wheels and a smile made of orange peels
To say i never had these things would be a lie
I've seen disney
I've had a mud fight and said you missed me
But through every laugh through every smile i had the hospital on speed dial
After 15 surgeries and about as many years my life began to change
Because with every scalpel
And even more taxing battles
My body became mine again
After three months of hospital jello
And promises of it will get better tomorrow
My legs finally belonged to me
When i said zig they didn't say zag
When my foot hit the floor i didn't wanna burst open like a chip bag
It's been 12 years since my life truly began
Everytime i walk in the room i hear the choirs of angels singing
Because I walked into a room
When i think about my life
I'm not clinging to a maybe
All that pain is nothing but a memory
But i will not forget my journey
I will never walk a straight line
Or run a marathon
But there are some things that i will do
I will be sure my past does not define me
I will not be ashamed of my disability
I will tell the world my story
Cerebral Palsy is not a disease
When you walk down the street and see me there is no need to flea
No you will not feel sorry for me
Cerebral Palsy is not a burden
It's a challenge
IT is a struggle
But it is one i happily will carry because this is who i am
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 10:42 AM UTC
I keep my books open infront of me
Only to see the words flee
Zig-zag dancing with some circles around
Your thought kept me up to see the darkness surrounds
Trying hard to erase your memories from this stupid heart
But the pop-up notification lit up and your thoughts knock again!
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 11:49 AM UTC
I'm chasing a chupacabra through Mississippi
through mud thick like chocolate milkshakes
and rain soaked boots stick to my socks to my skin
I run around trees and zag and zig to navigate
a maze of horticulture past ferns and bushes
and it stops.
We're eye to eye
like two old lovers
spotting each other
from across a beach bar
except those bloodsucker eyes
could paint the Grand Canyon red
and nosferatu fangs
still warm from goat *******
could sizzle the sun.
Cobra tail whiplash
spotty patches of hair
the ugly duckling.
I aim my pistol at the beast and pull the trigger
like a civil war hero king of champion hill
and the bullet takes off at the speed of life
it penetrates the animal and blood sprays
out of the torso like a garden hose set on mist
and I run up to the almost dead chupacabra
and it barks
softer than balsa
whimpers of a new born
puppy tears
staining red eyes
and as loud as a mouse
it says goodbye
in dog
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:03 PM UTC
Let’s **** through the issues
hash things out
zig-zag our way
to the carryout!
Powder some pozy
spark the butane
a platter of cookies
with sweet Mary Jane!
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC
.you want to relearn the schoolyard? are you sure you want to relearn the schoolyard?! sure... we can relearn the schoolyard... i have a theory though, and it goes along the lines of... you know those pedophile(s)? i have a theory... they're not exactly into smoking, or drinking... like... their female counterpart... i actually think women are afraid of young boys... for what young boys are, per se... well, given Muhammad, hyper-inflated interest in literacy... that covers the whole: illiterate prior, married to an older woman, not drinking, not smoking?! so what's your outlet?! to be an object of what... "subjects"... or to be a "subject" of what... objectifies... case in point, the nuance is interchangeable in the metaphor quadratic of wording... and no... not really... i find it hardly necessary to concern myself with making the sort if accuracy to give a metric unit basis of a centi-, or otherwise, etc.
it's sheryl crow
for fuck's sake...
it's not
katty perry...
that debut:
was... pristine..
seminal...
sure... my feet stink...
what? what's wrong
with Cheryl Crow?!
you better be *******
with me for serious,
otherwise
i switch to: unhinged...
a change?
***** won a ******* grammy!
sure... she married
a glorious child of
the two pedals...
who faked Paris having faked
a tourism ploy of France...
it's still Sheryl Crow though!
a trucker's daydream
of perfect head,
incubated by a mouth
of an 18 year old boy...
no... i like Alanis...
when... whatever that was that came
from a woman's mouth was...
deemed, fun...
now?
n'ah... not really.
all i really want... that sort of **** was
fun...
now? i'm becoming more and more
bemused by the fragrance of my
socks, worn, second day to count
thoroughly...
hand in my pocket...
right through you...
so... BIG daddy gonna come around
to save this teenage girl's cherry ***
the kind of daddy that could never
have a beer with me?
like i'm feeling that:
while using my right hands when typing
feels like i'm using my left hand,
and vice versa?!
no! i'm not having it!
Cheryl Crow... &...
Chrissie Hynde!
no... don't give me the *******
zig-zag argument suggesting
i'm about to see something
"better", via an X, cross-eyed...
blurry, like some reverse Freudian
fetish off Ariel, the mermaid,
blurry, under the water...
Disney princesses my ***
head over feet...
now... that's a song.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
Today I lost a dear friend.
She loved with unconditional love;
the type you can not buy or barter
she would instinctively know when I was near
and would wait patiently by the front door
a 6th sense beyond what we see or what we hear
what we think we heard or what we thought we saw.
She had golden hair with flecks of mottled brown
smiling eyes that knew friend from foe
loyally walk side by side
without fear in the darkest places
where ever we would go
I remember that time before;
id broken up with a girl of 5 years
she knew something hidden was very wrong,
although I hid the tears, let the feelings cower
she sat upon my legs, a paw on each shoulder
nestled her head into my neck
and hugged me for at least an hour
She was a lady of grace,
with the poise of pedigree
with an open heart for those close she loved;
her immediate family, close friends and me.
She would've made a winning frisbee catcher
that'll be the greyhound whippet in her genes
zig zag sprinting faster than the wind itself
hares and foxes was her excited prize
lay low among the undergrowth unseen
other than her piercing forever watching eyes
Yesterday, like any other day she dug for stones
chased her reflection on the water
and stood guard as we slept
little did we know the excitment of a fox to chase
would stop her heart and for hours after
my father, who kept his emotions in check,
was left speechless and bereft
as he uncontrollably wept.
Today I lost a dear friend,
a companion like no other
an amalgamated sense of loss,
like a sister from another mother.
Her last breaths, there are no words
to look upon her slowly glazing eyes
wrapped in a shroud and placed in a box
she will be sorely missed
departed from the ones she loved
to the land of the chasing fox;
muted words exchanged -
the last goodbye
the forever kiss.
Corrie
Rest in Peace
1999 - 2013
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
**A Unique Sight To See Are Summer
Birds Sitting In Winter Trees,
Chilled Winds Whistle--Creating High Voltages Of
Dopamine Which Wriggle Free In My Cells,
Evening Dwellers Soon Awake
Forcing Back The Day--Yet I Stay To
Gaze At The Black Canvas Of The Sky,
How Terribly I Wish To Paint The Stars
Ice White Paint Sits On My Palette; I Am Ready,
Just As I Dip My Brush Dawn Returns
Kinder Blazes On The Horizon--Yet I Create
Lonely Stars Sit--Three To Be Exact--Are
My Creation--And They Greet The Day Dwellers,
Nodding Hello As They Slip Back Into The Blue
Over The Whispy Clouds They Dance,
Politely They Smile And Wave Goodbye And
Quietly They Disappeared,
Rain Rolled Down My Cheeks But I Am Happy,
Silently I Smiled As I Trodded Back To The Trees
The Summer Birds Still Singing,
Uniting With The Bone Chilling Air
Valiant They Weather The Winter On The
Winding River--Their Melody Tingling Under My
Xiphoid Process,
Yielding To Express My Gratitude I Watch As They
Zig-Zag Through The Winter Trees**
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 8:32 AM UTC
It's funny
how
Our Paths
Split Break
Off from Away from
each other. one another
We loop and twirl We zig and zag
Touching
every now and then
Only to lose each other Never quite making
In the ether the connection
Until One day Until we've reached
When we feel A point so low the farthest apart That we've given up.
We suddenly realize It becomes so obvious
How foolish we've been. How blind we were to not see
The person we love. The person we cherish
Has always been walking
right by our side
if we had only
opened our eyes
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
"THOUGH logic-choppers rule the town,
And every man and maid and boy
Has marked a distant object down,
An aimless joy is a pure joy,'
Or so did Tom O'Roughley say
That saw the surges running by.
"And wisdom is a butterfly
And not a gloomy bird of prey.
"If little planned is little sinned
But little need the grave distress.
What's dying but a second wind?
How but in zig-zag wantonness
Could trumpeter Michael be so brave?'
Or something of that sort he said,
"And if my dearest friend were dead
I'd dance a measure on his grave.'
1.6k
they don't know like he does how her bottom teeth overlap at the front like boat sails / or that three moles on her thighs are the perfect example of an isosceles triangle / they don't know that when they sleep their feet fit together like bunch of bananas / or that when she traced circles in his hair it made a direct imprint on his soul / that's why they say she's not worth it / that's why he knows they are wrong.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC
He saw me watching as he was eating his fill
with me he seemed totally unconcerned
but then out of nowhere his enemy pounced
a fox on the hunt for his tea unannounced
but as the fox struck the rabbit’s head turned,
a chase ensued and the fox he got burned.
The rabbit ran zig-zag all over the field
with the fox giving chase with all might
the rabbit charged this way, the fox it went that
by the time it was over I was laughing in my hat
then the rabbit reached his hole and he shot out of sight
the fox had to give up, he’d go hungry tonight.
©Joe Wilson – Rabbit 1 – Fox 0…2014
For children.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Looking at the bay,
fog blankets the lake,
ships zig-zag, leaving trails.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
(Give me a London girl every time…)
*- I want to push my hands into your hips and smack you back to front against the wall, bunching your **** little skirt in my fingers, unclipping those fifties plastic beauties that cling to your thighs and I want you to be a right proper girl for me, a right proper girl -*
(…I’m gonna find one, I’ve made up my mind…)
So she got her phone out and
Smiled her Madonna-Gap smile,
Fine lines floundering
Like speech marks
Either side of her mouth.
So romantic!
A girl with a face of
Punctuation!
***** pennies,
she said,
Your eyes are
*****
*******
Pennies*
She would finger the holes
In my tatterdemalion
Charity coats,
And my shop-bought medals.
She would jab her fingers
Against each point
Of the Burma Star,
Spookily,
As though it were a
Pentagram.
She’s a washboard,
Her ******* are thumb-tacks
In a cosmetic shade of
Gold,
With a crucifix stamped
Like a dagger glyph
Right between them,
like a silver sneer,
on her precious metal chest.
*- I want to take your photo -
I want you in Pippi Longstockings
And to angle you just so, my no-knickered **** with her goosebumps on show -*
I’ll never forgot when she told me
She owned a leopard-skin
Pill-box hat ,
And I said
* “You’d have to be dead
Not to fancy that…”*
I’m not sure how aware she is though,
Of how many people
Tongue- to- the -floor want her.
She plays bored on purpose!
I’ve watched beautiful boys
Go to pieces
Trying to entertain her
With a curly straw.
She’s a real cheekbone feline,
And around her pupils
Rages a ring of jagged orange,
Like a jester’s ruff.
And I think of all this,
Whilst she stands there,
Moving from toe to toe
In her zig-zag heels,
And wooden bracelets,
And her little lycra
Landmine that
Shop assistants sell
To girls like her.
And then she clocks me.
and she doesn’t say a thing -
she just swims smilingly over
Through a parted gaggle,
Letting me grab her
Like I mean it,
Spanning her waist with my
Hands like
A corset -
And the fairylights
Are just smudges
Across her sequins,
And her mottled shoulders are
Ten shades
Of mostly white.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 9:35 AM UTC