The Land Was Not Ours
NOTE: starting with the usual note about blah-blah where it came from & when it was written & all that — if I said it was originally inscribed in us about 400 years ago would that work?
Category Archives: poetry
It Happened One Winter
sleeves rolled around rigid wrists clenched teeth writhing twisting needles plunge backroom grunge gargoyle fists firmly set amid waste waiting for the main lines whispered backstage aside alabaster sentinels blinding icy stains collapsing veins mined for all time in a lost bloodline and thus we arrive complicit complex redacted wrecked barely alive and yet
Many Splintered Things
Cards on Tables The post said not to spindle or fold but I thought it would be nice to hold open hands and present you with a heart as it was withdrawn from the deepest part Still beating and bleeding and seething with desire to go further than that initial awkward meeting of the
Low Songs
Streaming on a Loop I saw the worst minds of your generation Well, fucking everywhere Madmen in plastic pouches Clutching petroleum purses On pleather couches Counting fortunes fueled On broken backs And acrid stacks Pushing brinks in the night Where forty winks nod To the fall of all As pens run out of ink
A Fine Dust
We were never here not really even When it seemed so real so touching Feeling like we were in charge living Extra textured double shot large late Capitalist latte lives driving through Wanton lines with ordered appetites Upon on-demand sides of fetid flesh Jazzed up with freshly stewed dark Matters in skewered sleeves so
Do It Yourself Together
The politics of not giving a whit In defense of a strategic apathy Resist the weaponization of reality Refuse to participate in dependency Unsettle the induced hegemonies Decapitalize the inherent fallacies Reclaim autonomy through absence Fail to show up for the compulsory Stop pretending to even care Abolish obvious dissonance There’s nothing actually there
Not Buying It
“Thanks for Nothing” — QED You ask me what this life is for but All you mean is what’s in store when Things unfold in ways untold within Those lessons of blessings and sins Too messy to untangle by any moral Math that won’t last in the quest for Cash on the nail and the
Roll Credits
Much as anything else in this fiction Of ourselves being the limit of living While giving up on believing or even Receiving messages from beyond a Din of our iniquities broadcast out to An infinity we scarcely comprehend To which some of us are trying to get Back again following the crumbs on The
Too Much Life
The postmortem note said something like Failure to thrive which in this sort of world Is part of being alive as we cope with it all Trying to make a joke of the fall from grace When we crashed on this place from parts Unknown having flown the ether to locate Some
The Longing Mile
There will not long become a day Up ahead to a proverbial third way To fight without raising even an arm To shout without sounding the alarm Burying seeds of doubt way far out In the untended parts of the farm By refusing to harm any living thing Accepting the blows without the sting
Last Crawl
Dragging on years of old wars across Floors painted over with dry tears of Soft shoulders bearing weights from Worlds undiscovered except for the Fires burning through others who seem To find peace somehow in the darkness Comforted among the sharpness of pains Sparked by the ravages of time slipping Sliding eluding abiding no
Dancing Light
A long time ago in a classroom far, far away, I had a vision that has shaped my journey in profound ways. It was inspired by a film screened in grade school half a century ago, depicting what reality might look like from the vantage point of the edge of the universe AND from
Renovations
RENOVATIONS What light emerges Behind solid doors Freshly painted blue With casual dreams To withstand silence Carefully set aside For another lifetime — NOTE: We walk this fine line between existence and anticipation, keeping still while moving, wondering about the parts that will go unfulfilled…
Raze and Shone
Finally we get to that part where things start To simmer up not due to climate or pent up Gases and last gasp chances as time passes But mainly because there is never a pause Between effect and cause being the same Old game in every refrain and too much pain To go around
The Futurn
It was a time like no other voices in Rooms of desperate escapes from Conditions woven in the wombs of Neglectful dejection by unelected Henchman of the apocalypse within But also to their chagrin a brand new Beginning was unleashed from its Moors as the tired and poor took their Fair share of the