What I release to the night
Let’s me wake in the morning
Where I’m light as a feather
And stiff as a board
Oblivious to the slow dying
That I keep in a delicate cage
With just enough space
And water
And love—to survive
Home » Posts tagged 'poem' (Page 19)
Tag Archives: poem
Acting like you don’t know is an art in itself
It’s hard
To see
Out this pit
Of despair
When you’re down
On your knees
In the cold
Summer air
And it’s hard
To conceive
Memories
When you care
Looking for
What you lost
In a house
Built of mirrors
And it’s hard
When you know
All of this
Is a joke
Convinced
Or exposed
Either way
There’s a host
To obey
Or believe
In what you
See in me
That’s alright
It’s ok
Sip your honey
and tea
I just thought
You should know
I don’t know—
Yeah I know
Tchotchke
You read my sadness
Word for word
Like I’m a novelty
Then put me down
Back in my place
Some oldtime tchotchke—
And I wonder how it feels,
Window shopping too?—
From the corner of my gladness
To the outskirts of your sadness
Where nothing is for certain
And no one is to blame
Except we don’t glimmer anymore
Or sparkle like we used to—
Ornamental at our best
Tokens from another life
Tongues
Myself or you
Who to believe?
Our tongues
Entwined
With poetry
The trail’s bare
Just fallen leaves
Our bread it’s stale
And crumbling
Proper Horrorshow
Perhaps our first impression
is ultimately the last extension
of our false self—
primped and proper horrorshow—
doing any and everything
to impress upon the willing,
whether or not we recognize that self
is null and void of consequence
having fooled them all except
Ourselves.
Morning Light
Sometimes there’s
a drop of hope
in the morning light,
before the sun turns over
and the evening grows dark
where the uncouth gather
and the emptiness starts,
leaving me dormant
waiting for the morning light.
Treason
Call me by my medicine
not by my mistakes
It’s all I have to offer,
it’s all that I can take
Call me by your reasons
my reason not to stay
And let me be the treason
to help you walk away
A Vicious Cycle
I keep trying to focus
on the good things, except
it’s all the little bad things
that keep reminding me
of all the good things
I should be focused on.
Pen and Ink
I can only dip my pen
so deep into the well
before it comes up dry
and thirsty for more.
Teen’s Wet Dream In The Sun
There’s grass and flowers blooming
in Magnolia park
And this absent minded feeling
while the sky grows dark
Lily pads and grapefruit
growing in the yard
Fences form a fortress
full of dull remorse—
You left me standing idle
like a broke down car
Listening to Layla
watching shooting stars
Visions of Johanna
all just fell apart
Romanticized by healing
and those tarot cards—
Now I’m drinking nightly
at an empty bar
They gentrified the valley
and closed the bodega
I still see you smiling
from the bedroom floor
Hailing that taxi
with a broken arm—
A tincture of illusion
pressed beneath the tongue
Awakens the compulsion
to hold a smoking gun
There’s two sides to the story
I’ve got another one
The party’s in the distance
Teen’s wet dream in the sun
Words Of An Average White Male 