he slammed his way through
with fury and poised intent
one punk at a time
mosh pit review haiku
he slammed his way through
with fury and poised intent
one punk at a time
Elizabeth
hot the concrete is today
plastic black orchid near the front step
of the Gothic house but only in her head
3:30 a.m. writing session to her congressman
about her old folks home going to the dogs
when at breakfast her and her friends call the nurse speed racer
and lament not having money
and love least of all
Banksy art work on the wall across the street they see
the wind runs his fingers through her thinning hair
after stroke and misery took out her common sense
her doctor dresses in jeans and looks like young Lou Reed
she silently riots at the lies that she is told
and falls into depression dreaming of Marilyn Monroe
the shade of the magnolia tree pokes its trunk on through
and gives Elizabeth another day away from sudden death
always is she thankful in her widowed lonely heart
far away from Montana and the nest home of the Crow
green eggs and ham was never read to her
while empty beer bottles at the end of a long day
forced to collect with laughter at the inn
voluntary ignorance all to chase a dream
Hollywood sign was the destination but opened doors are never guaranteed
if Dylan knew
Zimmy has an old soul
if you look at his eyes
they are other worldly
the color of Earth’s face
from up in space
it means just what is
but when i heard him this morning
while drinking my mud
these words telegraphed
out from Alexa .1
“Oh my name it ain’t nothin’
My age it means less
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
I was taught and brought up there
The laws to abide
And that land that I live in
Has God on its side”
the shame i felt
rose to waterlines of my
green lined eyes
and the liquid it spilleth over
perhaps it’s the hormones
or the brow beat quarantine
and my cat she ate the dog’s food
but i couldn’t tell her to quit
shaking it off
turning the vacuum on
the dog he shakes his
fluffy white tail
and my thoughts run asunder
white hot sun beaming
brown wood flooring
a meeting of the titans
debacled by the cat
does God pick sides
Nutella
fruit
lavash
rye bread
ramen
and a good fuck while i’m on top
chewing on ice
these things that i like
why am i this way
could it be in black vain
that i ask these strange questions
a dandelion of thoughts
cast into the humidity
answers might or might not
germinate
does God get to decide
from where do i find
recourse for sinning
early i rise
eating my heart out
doing what’s right
one moment gets wasted
my faith goes in haste
my spirit is stuck wild horses help me am i on God’s side
philosophical phunk
the mind collapses violently the carnival of lies that entertained the young impressionable life suffered
a tear in it’s now rotted penetrable fabric cross stitches erupted with the weight of
boiling hot sin and the anger of the soul possessed by ignorance in the ultimate
court we will know who are the innocent Dante and i sipped old world rye
while we waited for the master of ceremony G Scott Heron to update us on
the state of the revolution and how the forests are ablaze and man stuck in
a maze of filters and face lifts and corporate octopussed armed megalomaniacs are worshipped for
curing babies to work the mines lest you forget not even you can nourish your
carcass on diamonds so we sit while the crowd let’s out
mangifera
sweet fleshy skin warm
kiss like nothing else
your orange creamy tart taste will into honey turn if we lay in the sun together
the smell of green emanates from you within calling me to pull the knife
i strip you down to your ripe round middle and gently nibble and suck you down
and when the time is right i stroke you down as i’m reminded of his long missed circumcision
and our tropical walks through Walmart aisles shopping for the Fourth of July
LalalalaLola
eating my words [iii]
hey letter X
hey letter X
you’re my favorite
i relate with your
closed off heart center
but four very open ended arms
i too have closed in
and have for many years
but the more the heart shut
i kinda became vulnerable to
the dark underbelly of too much
awareness of things best left alone
some might say through this traveled winding tar soaked road that i’ve acquired more X’s than the Pussy Cat Theatre
i guess it’s the best to have open options not to get boxed in but at times in the midnight hourglass of time
the thought Xes my head that we both have four paths and our keys to the maps are rusted shut deep in our centers
Guest Post
want to share with my WP community a completely unexpected but beautiful and uplifting comment left on my last post by the awesome timsmind390256655.wordpress.com please check his site out tre cool
to answer one must know the question and have the courage to give an answer or not Mother is sending a message will we hear it will we heed it the birds still sing and even if they stop and we are no more She will start the chorus anew to be heard by new ears all is not yet lost we will learn to be better the birds song is not the only song that would be a shame to lose i hear your song too
thanks friend 🙂
words less spoken 