1129 0 0
|
Ben did not respond, but sat staring lizard-eyed at the shattered remains of his glorious musical instrument.
|
112987
|
and I revel in the fact. There are other facts at work and play, but I'm hanging out with this one because it is my day off and I'm listening to music and writing poems. I like the bright appearance coming from the bedroom…
|
112800
|
I never thought that I would be
here
|
112895
|
|
112800
|
"Come into my face." said Duras famously as she neared death. This is very beautiful. If one takes Duras to speak of something akin to the 'face' as given us by Levinas, and we may display this face here as something like an Husserlian universal…
|
112810
|
"Stop it! Don't fucking touch me! I fucking hate you! I'll call the cops! I'll never forgive you for this!"
|
112800
|
I would like to land youLike a paper airplane,Take you home to mom. I like your mom &, sheWants to sleep in the sameBed as me. Call it odd. I give you a head nodin the museum, we speakin code. Call it news.I have the blues. Nobodydoes it like you do, to me,for us, in…
|
1128178
|
I'd rather slit my wrists with a Triscuit...
|
1127206
|
...the bulk of poets are amateurs.
|
112710
|
I leave you because
you violently told me to,
I still love you because
I told you I always would.
|
112730
|
I prowl. You prowl. We all prowl.
|
112711
|
|
112743
|
a ruminating marsupial? if so,/
I guess I’d be a kangaroo, the cud soured/
and pasted to the tongue . . .
|
112721
|
“Well, of course I served in the CIA . . . everybody did, back then!” he says with a grin. “Two goddamn bloody well years . . . I was a regular Nayland Smith, I tell you. …
|
112710
|
My stepmother called me an amoral virgin during our latest "disagreement."
|
112642
|
Here in this land of cannabis...
|
112644
|
Hanging out at the
Imaginary Friends Café
with all my imaginary friends,
poets, itinerant musicians, etc.
Writing close to nothing.
Can’t finish a thought,
so I’m composing a book called
“Not Quite Haiku,”
which is unfini
|
112622
|
We met at a bar
We didn’t get far
We went to her car
Then back to the bar
I played guitar
She was a rock star
We met at a bar
We didn’t get far
|
112600
|
It comes to him in the night. When he's lying there, staring at the ceiling. The shadows dance on the white paint, forming into monsters that get you when you sleep. The moon hangs low in the sky, dancing with the stars in a ballet that lost all movement
|
112698
|
What will become/
of the resource-sucking poor
|
112611
|
The tuna fish sandwiches were laid out the way they had always been; they were cut into triangles, with wet paper towels between them. They stayed that way over an hour, untouched, aside from a dimple the size of my cousins finger to test the softness. …
|
112610
|
If you were a painter,
and I a poet,
we could have conversations
about Picasso and Bukowski,
and how neither one
took a sober breath.
|
112500
|
Check the sweet lunar springs that we are still bathing in. The swelling in the genitals there. Check to make sure we are ripe, and in season. It’s our way of being willing, strong under the sweet icy waters, with that fertility that is derived from you
|
112573
|
No harp now hails, / no wood sings mirth, no good hawk / swoops through the hall, no swift steed / paws dirt in the castle-yard. Woeful death / has emptied earth of an ancient race.
|
112500
|
“Our legs are touching. Our legs. Touching. The light from the screen illuminates your eyes. Off and on. Even in night scenes. Maybe it dances in the eyes of other people there too. But I doubt it. Not like…
|
112586
|
The damp suspended/
in the air/
in a faint fog/
discourages coagulation.
|
112500
|
I will miss you, sure, let it be known. The memory, and the dream, both. That familiar smell of Old Spice when someone wearing it comes near. And the smell of Coppertone Suntan Lotion on the beaches of our youth in Chicago. And the pressure of your fing
|
112510
|
Watch the moon hang with methough miles and miles apart.Over sea and rock and railwaysforever in my heart.
|
112511
|
We have been down here before
|
112511
|
the rain on the windowhammers out a symphonyfor ninety Underwoodsand oh what a savage performanceit does take to soothe this beast
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