Some crappy poems
Posted: Mon May 12, 2008 10:11 am
P R O C R A S T I N A T I O N
Whenever a plane passes overhead
I can’t help but think,
“This is it.
They’re finally going to
drop the bomb.”
But then the plane passes,
as it always does,
and I stand quietly
at the bus stop,
embracing
the waiting
game.
May 08 2008
S O M E W H E R E I’ V E N E V E R B E E N
Somewhere in the world
a beautiful woman
runs through white sand even though
a book drinks sunlight at
the edge of a towel.
And there’s even a field
out there, somewhere,
with tall yellow sprouts
that swing in the wind
and whip pollen across the sky
like birdshot.
Perhaps a small child,
while learning to ride a bike under
mother’s watchful push,
falls, cracks
a bone, and can
never
trust
again.
Somewhere a summer day starts
with the promise of success
for a young businessman and his
pigeon-faced trophy wife.
Somewhere else
people drink and yell
into their plastic cocktail glasses—
a DJ plays that famous song
I’ve never heard and the bodies bounce
like felt hammers.
I’d really like to be
at somewhere
someday
if only to feel the warm sand on my feet
the wake around my pantleg
or the satisfaction of wasting money
on an expensive drink
or companion.
But life goes on
in silence that
promises me I’ll find
that one perfect passage
in some old book
that gives me back the beach,
the wife,
the child,
and all the drunken nights
I’ve missed.
13 April 2008
S P R I N G
Dirt poured for a dead cat—
It crawled beneath the old wood shed
last week.
Mother tried to feed it
milk from a tin bowl during
these warm days
but the cat would not lap
or kiss the sweet milk
and instead lay still.
The purring stopped during
a warm spring rain in afternoon
sun. Now, its face a rotten bulb
of wormholes and its belly
round with bugs,
the somehow halved cat,
just whiskers and tail intact,
germinates with spring.
Intestines are spun
in a pink tube womb.
Its guts, unspun, eternal, kissing
life like an umbilical chord.
Conceived through meat’s fetid marriage
with flies, one million yellow eggs
spew forth little pink
larvae, fat with the dew
and the desire of spring.
April 2008
D E S T R U C T I O N’ S S H A D O W
Hide knives in the fork drawer
beneath Arms, stretched and wild.
Hide meaning in the black chalk
of infinity’s expanding plume.
Our two lights
flicker trees
and houses
across cobbled earth.
The Present and Past of
men and women
stain stone with dirt shadow.
Remember the ghostly portraits,
remember their casual
pose for Armageddon’s camara-flash.
These ghosts chant in tongues
bemoaning Spiritual defeat,
and as the drumheads beat
man must kill to eat.
April 28 2008
N U C L E A R R A I N B O W
I sit up late with a bottle of whiskey
and sometimes marijuana
while Tibet burns to the ground
fuzzed photographs of Red men
pillaging stores
Loot Asprin! loot rum! loot Tylenol,
Amodium, Paxil!
Africa build boats!
Africa harness the power of television;
we need your views, your lights,
your beautiful people
your exotic skeletons.
Africa, we need Ivory and Diamonds.
Africa, peer West with horny eyes of sweatshop
and slavery.
Africa, we will work for cents
if you make us.
France smokes endless cigarettes
and nuclear rainbow spinners click
up and down the spokes
of a black bicycle.
The Eiffel Tower bows into scrap metal
Whenever a plane passes overhead
I can’t help but think,
“This is it.
They’re finally going to
drop the bomb.”
But then the plane passes,
as it always does,
and I stand quietly
at the bus stop,
embracing
the waiting
game.
May 08 2008
S O M E W H E R E I’ V E N E V E R B E E N
Somewhere in the world
a beautiful woman
runs through white sand even though
a book drinks sunlight at
the edge of a towel.
And there’s even a field
out there, somewhere,
with tall yellow sprouts
that swing in the wind
and whip pollen across the sky
like birdshot.
Perhaps a small child,
while learning to ride a bike under
mother’s watchful push,
falls, cracks
a bone, and can
never
trust
again.
Somewhere a summer day starts
with the promise of success
for a young businessman and his
pigeon-faced trophy wife.
Somewhere else
people drink and yell
into their plastic cocktail glasses—
a DJ plays that famous song
I’ve never heard and the bodies bounce
like felt hammers.
I’d really like to be
at somewhere
someday
if only to feel the warm sand on my feet
the wake around my pantleg
or the satisfaction of wasting money
on an expensive drink
or companion.
But life goes on
in silence that
promises me I’ll find
that one perfect passage
in some old book
that gives me back the beach,
the wife,
the child,
and all the drunken nights
I’ve missed.
13 April 2008
S P R I N G
Dirt poured for a dead cat—
It crawled beneath the old wood shed
last week.
Mother tried to feed it
milk from a tin bowl during
these warm days
but the cat would not lap
or kiss the sweet milk
and instead lay still.
The purring stopped during
a warm spring rain in afternoon
sun. Now, its face a rotten bulb
of wormholes and its belly
round with bugs,
the somehow halved cat,
just whiskers and tail intact,
germinates with spring.
Intestines are spun
in a pink tube womb.
Its guts, unspun, eternal, kissing
life like an umbilical chord.
Conceived through meat’s fetid marriage
with flies, one million yellow eggs
spew forth little pink
larvae, fat with the dew
and the desire of spring.
April 2008
D E S T R U C T I O N’ S S H A D O W
Hide knives in the fork drawer
beneath Arms, stretched and wild.
Hide meaning in the black chalk
of infinity’s expanding plume.
Our two lights
flicker trees
and houses
across cobbled earth.
The Present and Past of
men and women
stain stone with dirt shadow.
Remember the ghostly portraits,
remember their casual
pose for Armageddon’s camara-flash.
These ghosts chant in tongues
bemoaning Spiritual defeat,
and as the drumheads beat
man must kill to eat.
April 28 2008
N U C L E A R R A I N B O W
I sit up late with a bottle of whiskey
and sometimes marijuana
while Tibet burns to the ground
fuzzed photographs of Red men
pillaging stores
Loot Asprin! loot rum! loot Tylenol,
Amodium, Paxil!
Africa build boats!
Africa harness the power of television;
we need your views, your lights,
your beautiful people
your exotic skeletons.
Africa, we need Ivory and Diamonds.
Africa, peer West with horny eyes of sweatshop
and slavery.
Africa, we will work for cents
if you make us.
France smokes endless cigarettes
and nuclear rainbow spinners click
up and down the spokes
of a black bicycle.
The Eiffel Tower bows into scrap metal
