3:08
and I’m happy.
Not the smiling sort of
tell-all happy but
the breathing in the moonlight
kind of easiness,
just being, barely conscious
and willing to be free.
And
it’s 3:12 now
and shit,
you know how it goes.
Home » Posts tagged 'story' (Page 32)
Tag Archives: story
a clear blue morning
flesh
against
flesh
against
flesh
against
flesh
against
sheets
pulled over
a clear blue
morning.
They had me at goodbye.
They had me at goodbye
as they always seemed to die
slow like a rose
one day jubilant and alive
then like sleep goes the week
and it’s noticed that the rose
has died. But see, I kept them there
all wilted and decayed
brown and crumpled I’d debate
taking them to the trash
throwing them away, though
a rose in its youth is beautiful
so too is a rose left to dry.
So I pressed them between pages
and drew a pretty picture
poured ink from my memory
so that even in death
they’d remain
alive.
a caged artist
I never met an artist I didn’t like
I just tasted their breathe
from an arms length away
and
when they told me drunkenly
to go to hell
at least I knew they meant it
so while she tore off her clothes
like a caged animal
in the center of a Williamsburg high-rise
a slave to her own bizarre fashion
I could see it there, her passion
exhibited like a gallery of fine art
and her hair
painted in oils hyper-realistic
she would drive herself wild
though couldn’t quite blend her canvas
into the madness she became
hysterical so
closing the cage I left
knowing
there wasn’t more I could do
than allow her the respect and dignity
to clean up her own mess.
season of change
Never had a bad intention
I just always made some bad decisions
that usually got way out of hand
and discredited my good intent
though looking a bit harder now
I guess I was just angry and confused
and figuring it out the best I knew how
given time, place, and circumstance
I mean I was just 16 then 19 — 23 then 25
now 31 doesn’t feel so old, in fact
I feel much younger than my former self
ready to dive back into that season of change.
Kyle’s Camel
Kyle’s
Camel
cigarette
smoke
lingers in the air
creeping in my window
wishing me to dare
take another drag
see what you’ve been missing
though if I did decide
to have another kissing
I’d like to think
it would be mid winter
jangling down the streets
of New York City banter
admiring sleepy windows
with a stranger I barely know
after leaving the Wreck Room
now long since closed
and wondering if she feels
the same way I do
taking a long hot drag
while
trying to seem cool
knowing nothing about her
yet desperately wanting to
and they would taste like Brooklyn
they would be Pall Mall Menthol
crisp and clear and clean
like ice on the verge of thaw
we’d be cracking up.
strangers to ourselves.
My eyes burn
with exhaustion
scanning the airport
for any sign of life
though heads down turned
there is none
just a few lone stragglers
who look around
the same as I
unwilling to accept the courtesy
of pleasant conversation
we remain
strangers
and
strangers to ourselves.
moving West
I flipped myself
like a coin
then flipped again
just to see
if heads or tails
would land twice
like a pollinating
honey bee
I figured if I had a
50/50 chance
I might as well
take a look see
and feel what lie on the
other side of dying
rather than spend another
long day trying
to convince myself
I’d be better off another house wife
crying
into coffee
or screaming into laundry
relying on the offerings
of innocent smiles
casting unintentional
shadows on my coffin
of denial
marred by my own
self loathing
which like a
preacher’s devotion
I took such pride
in approaching
solitude
like a potion
endlessly encroaching
on my own
well being
I admit I was broken
so I flipped that coin
heads
then I flipped myself
tails
and discovered
this notion
that
heads or tails I was going
Going
Gone
with the wind
not a rolling stone
or a tumbleweed
not a nickel or dime
not a honey bee
no I was a wreck
cast far out to sea
but that’s just the thing
it took all that to see
moving West wouldn’t be
all that easy for me
no nothing is lucky
nothing is free
except the glow of bonfire
in the dead of tree
where dancing shadows
take form and
I’m just
understandably me — hell
it’s already 1:03
and I’m hungry
but
I’ve got no food to eat —
so call it in the air
no
on second thought
I’ll just let this one be.
A view from 3614 W. Magnolia Blvd.
While someone’s tightening the belt
strapped firmly around the throat
and another’s sporting her crown of thorns
trailing hoots and hollers towards hell
there’s a man dressed casual
waiting for the bus, and it’s cold
and he’s dancing with himself
and he’s smiling, sadly so am I.
poetry is spam
A large portion of
poetry is spam.
But I don’t eat that stuff,
at least not until I get to see Hawaii
then who knows?
I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.
When in Rome, you know;
when in Rome.
Words Of An Average White Male 