Posts Tagged ‘ poetry ’

Fragment of a Sub(urban) Daydream


12 blue rubbish bins arranged in a circle.

Image via Wikipedia

Fragment of a Sub(URBAN) Daydream

 

Nirvana is a short NAP
in a BROOKlined cemetery…

Meanwhile,
there are memory bank rob(BERRIES) in progress
for the POOR concentration CAMPERS.
Everywhere the CLEAN streets are
lined with litter bins collecting DUST
particles along the BACK
of their Alley Ca(r)t-wheels…

can you spare A. Diamond
For a CUP of laughter in the park
as Shake-The-Speare wiggles a toe in the SAND?

(Definitely)
put the RUBY on Thursday’s pulse
This TIME out
so you can meet at BO(o)TH ends
in the Middle sometimes
If oHIo calls again,

ears prick up your arse in UNI(S)ON
As you SURF the radio WAVES
for pent-up or strangled melodies…

Wait for it! just wait… remember, Milton,
your services have ALREADY been rendered
in your HOLIDAY pants
and SMILING is only your favorite Opt-i(o)n.


Playground

Playground (Photo credit: phalinn)

a piece of rubbish i wrote when i first moved to California:

bubonic playground

at the dawn of the beginning
of what never ends,
going ’round, bringing out the dead,
shall we feast upon the corpses
of those we’ve hated and loved?
or laugh and lament over their withering bones?

on the bubonic playground that we share,
don’t shed a tear for oilspills or bloodspills.

let’s all scream our heads together
for the love that’s been spilled
like empty seed on barren ground.

let’s all scream our faces in the mirror
until we melt together
and just for once leave hate and discontent behind.

Program Wobbly


i was in a mood when i wrote this thinking of shit and computer programming…

Program Wobbly

111 feeling a bit wobbly-wobbly ‘(?)’
112 gotta lay off the hallucinogenic poetry for a while
113 this hell of laughter mirth and merriment is making me dizzy
114 how do you get /off/ this thang ‘(?)’
115 when do you get /off/ ‘(?)’
121 wanna come over and smoke some cigs eat cheese and drink some whiskey til we puke ‘(?)’
122 i m getting me-sick
123 i m getting home-sick
124 i m getting poem-sick
125 somebody call my mama cause i need a new set of snow tires for the minivan
131 BLUE MOON
132 how do y all do this without fist-fucking the computer ‘(?)’
133 my mouse my mouse my mouse is on a wire ‘(!)’
134 for the love of Hitler will you please tell me where the /off/ button is ‘(?)’
135 wipe that shit-eating grin off your face if you re not gonna share ‘(!)’
141 i ve come to a decision
142 i like you ‘(!)’
143 that s why i m going to shut the fuck up ‘(!)’
144 feeling a bit wobbly-wobbly ‘(!)’
145 END

a valentine massacre


a valentine poem written for the love of my life

a valentine massacre

meet me if you dare
in the cartage company
where i can line you up
against a bare cement wall
and spray you with
toasted strawberry kiss gunfire

and spray your blood
against my wishes
against my ecstasies
against my desires

you won’t suspect a thing
when i show up
in my uniform existence
that i carted out of a violin case
holding a sub-machine gun heart

against your will?
against all hope?
against all odds!

ah, go quietly dove
it won’t hurt a bit
and the papers will say
i did it all for love

sal(i)vation bell


i’ve been wanting to ring the bell at christmas for the Salvation Army for years.  this is a poem about rejection by them.

sal(i)vation bell

going to the walmart to cash my inability check
on a winter’s day
i stop like one of pavlov’s dogs by the sal(i)vation bell

yeah i saw their ads on television
where i could extract the lucre
it’s for a good cause and ringing the bell
for an hour in the cold
would do me good or so i thought

so i ask the man:
“can i ring the bell?”

he says his manager will be back in twenty minutes
i can ask him
so i go inside to extract the lucre
from my inability check
and maybe feed a little bit to the sal(i)vation bell people.

my head is humming
at the thought of all the cold hard cash
pouring in the pot
as i stand in line at the service bay
thinking about ringing the bell

it’s for a good cause and
ringing the bell for an hour in the cold
would do me good

so i collect my lucre and go outside
to ask the man
and when i get to the sal(i)vation bell
the manager is emptying the pot

so i ask the man:
“can i ring the bell?”

and he says:
“you’ll have to go downtown and fill out an application”

hmmm
what do i look like? look at me
one of pavlov’s hungry dogs
who wants just once to ring the bell
and they want me to fill out an application
to stand out in the cold
ringing the sal(i)vation bell
and i look like the guy who ate the receipts
but i’m not
and i thank the man and drop a jackson into the bucket
and wonder what has become of me

(Standing In Line) At The Pay Confessional


(Standing In Line) At The Pay Confessional

 

(Standing in line) at the pay confessional
in my photo opportunity suit,
a cabaret of poetry in one hand,
just currency for some canceled Czech,
I get to the magic number dispenser lotto machine
but it’s empty!

A mime in drag with a roll of ticker tapes
sidles up to the promontory of the receiving unit
with the Host.

Will I get to taste Sal(i)vation or have to settle
for Sal(i)sbury Steak instead. Damned mystery meat
plagues my dentifricial overtures!

I take a numberless number, it’s best not to look.
I will be called to the hot seat when my time is /UP/!
Scenic variations drift through my view-strator as I… i.. i.

(stand) in line waiting at the pay confessional.

Behind the Monolith


Behind The Monolith

Behind the Monolith is
a hand-scribbled note

On the back of a drugstore receipt.
“I could still see you”

when your face shattered
at the news of the departure…

Lying in a heap of other notes,
some just as incongruous with the

Continuous hum of the MonOLith.

Here’s one:
“Bacon
Chloroform
Map of Berlin 2006″

written on a cocktail napkin
in lipstick.

Means nothing to me.

So I search through the scraps
that lie at my feet for what seems like-

And then I find it.

Written in my hand on
a used bus ticket from the future

“It isn’t so”

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