Home » Posts tagged 'poet' (Page 35)
I need someone
with gun in hand
cocked cold and ready
against my head
perhaps then
I’d have the reason
to finish this all red eh
I’ve lost interest
with no six gauge to my chest
fire crackers maybe
I’ve the strength to digest
Hell who am I kidding
I’m no good at roulette
but to settle for less, no
I’d rather be shot dead.
Love
will change you
disfigure you
destroy you
mold you
into a thousand
desperate forms
of you
before you
can truly Love
Love will
abandon you
leave you
free you
from its grasp
Broken and
alone you
will then know Love
from whatever it was
you
were stuck in before
you
knew better than to Love
false Love
Curtains
in the window
breathe
just as we do
So stop
once and a while
and watch
It’s surprising really
what they have
to offer
Something different
for everyone
only if you care
to listen
Just the right
amount of whiskey
can make a poor man rich
and a rich man poor
it all just depends on
who’s asking for more.
You can love somebody
anybody
unconditionally
but the one thing you can’t do
is change them. You can’t
make them who you wished
they would be, although
yes it’s there
that certain something
always shining
like a diamond in the rough
sparkling is their beauty
but only for a moments glance
before it’s lost again.
God how I wish I could tell them
of everything that I see within them
of all mine and their desires fulfilled
though they wouldn’t believe me
for they couldn’t see themselves
like I see
their souls burning in denial
wanton and wild
whether it be love or vile
you can love somebody
anybody, but
you can’t change them.
Not really.
All you can do is tell them how you feel.
So tell them.
Chances are
they feel that way too.
At the end of the day
I am nothing but
sweat and fat
and bad breath
and poems
strewn out among sage
and corkscrew, lighter, and coffee mug
wine and love for it all
all the things that I have carried
and still carry till this day
another night
another light
twinkling in the Friday night hysteria
of weekend fun
unseen.
I fell in love with myself
over and over and out again
until all there was was an
Open Cavity
beat beat beating down the block
beating and always beating
even when it stopped
I fell in love with myself and
that Rocket-shaped mailbox.
At the end of this life
if you can say
I did some things
I really, really enjoyed
and helped some people
along the way
all the while
laboring loves labyrinth
then that
I’d say
is a beautiful life.
We are all our own genius
aren’t we? Self-help tells us
to be selfless while the world
tells us to be tough
slowly, gradually
like a surgeon’s steel
picking apart pieces
of our sanity like a game
of Operation. We are all
children at heart, aren’t we?
When our nose’s glow red
and hairs stand on end
while our souls ignite like kerosene
flailing our arms in ecstasy
remembering the truth which
from birth was wiped clean
like a board of chalk.
We’re always trying to get that
message back, that message which
in a world or man and steel and greed
can only exist as long as love at first sight
where in the morning she lay
soundlessly asleep, bound to no one
her genius in my memory forever.
At the end of the day
we’re all just
butthole tissue
flesh, bone, and spirits
away from the truth
if there is any, well
we’ll surely find out
at the end of the day.
So keep it clean cause
you’ll never really know
until you do, I guess.
Words Of An Average White Male 