crimson tear filled#3wordspoet pic.twitter.com/9uPlnmxVTW
— mb (@tumblindice70) August 26, 2021
Depression
crowded ground
a little girl chose me from the crowded ground
she gave me a tiny flower
as her little sister sang a pop song about a universe
no doubt a gift from the great beyond
to wash away the midnight in my heart
fat wives
during the times of kings and crooked priests when land was worked with skinned hands and God was kept from most fat wives were prized possessions throughout the times borders planes punk tunes politics wars of worlds and lipstick trends tea cup dogs and reality shows churches of every persuasion color and flavor fat wives are now abandoned dethroned and berated yet among the kings and dukes earls and car owners big boned brides and fruits from loins each pound of flesh was a gold brick in their safe now strewn across my street and the streets of the city fat humans lethally lethargic forced to eat poisoned industrial concoctions trash and starches because the bottom of the begging cup has nothing more than the guilt coin of the popular collective unconsciousness
questions
what is it like to sit in silence and hear the sounds of ocean waves playing
what is it like to face the sun and feel the wind cool and soft
what is it like to have lightness and to feel the colors of sea glass through my pores
and why is it that the dock doesnt move me to sleep and instead
i grip with my soul
afraid to drift away
truth tanka
i will wait silent
body heavy with living
my head yet holds up
with equal amounts of tears
just as many crooked smiles
self
orange peels fresh in the sink
my finger tips scented by their honey
outside the heat lectures the breeze
little birds lined up fluffy down ornaments
i ask myself
self what will you do today
and i answer i dont know
you do that everyday self
arent you tired
and i answer yes but not like how you think
the birds are still
the window thick but i can read their beaks i know theyre singing
and i say to self
self how about oatmeal
the Irish kind with a little cream and fresh peaches
starring with blank eyes
at the punk rock collage
stirring the cinnamon and sugar
my 4 year old self giggles out from the jar
pig tails tan corduroy dress
bare tiny foots and a Disney coloring book
self instructs me to stand
and i walk away from her
complication
you ask why do i cover it
wandering around town
a million thoughts
abstract in their reality
answers swerve but then the questions haunt
im not a fitter in the jigsaw of today right now
just a passing sorceress with a spray paint can
strayed under the bridges dirty shoes bruised features
archangel seal on finger never ringed but broken twice
but even in slumber you complain
how can anyone ever hold you
your hand anchored to your hardened chest
it’s a reflex i whisper back
shes frail
beating hushley
neath this bony tattooed hand
his motor dies
in midnight stroll cool ocean roars 12 steps away
time clutches in between my thoughts i am unforgotten
sea salt on my lashes tips
flowers closed and snuggled away
my cold left ear catches a rift of a stray gull
every step approaches me as my thoughts are unforgotten
a childish smile caterpillars across my chin tucked under my achy hand
as i move on looking through chain link walls in hopes of finding sleep
then theres a clock his face is lined with human history
from the instant hes wound up to the moment his motor dies
we are unforgotten
legs are still by the sand dunes edge
a 7UP can glimmers
my cold fingers hidden beneath folded elbows
my chest fills up with moonlit air
to be alive at waters arms
to ponder on why i think Adam Duritz is the Robert Smith in Bennie and the Jets
is why alone with the night time thorns i remain unforgotten
defectors of defeat
The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.
–A Farewell to Arms (1929)
i not ever one to stay settled
not in a chair nor a desk or a flipped car in the middle of the highway
i not ever one to cry fold up or whimper after the first punch slap or ranting curse
gables decisions transfers petitions bus stops late nights running away to dark alleys
broken arms scraped face bloody nose bruised halo twisted wing midnight summer clouds intrigued
books parks veterans of various fights teachers preachers women brothers fractured holy lives
war with peace along the edge we’re marched too soon where time has earned the essence of our hands yet not the moxie of the spirit
words less spoken 