a kind of mad drunk lost fear
a white man on the subway
forgot he was
and thought he saw.
In the black tunnel
an aborigional mural
shone in the lightning spark.
He closed his book
and squinted through the dirty window
until he saw him self
in the refleciton.
I shop
at the counter
of culture.
I spent a year (or two) throwing words around
tossing them like empty beer cans.
Now my shaking hands find it dificult
to hold them and mold them...
and not be jaded by their tricks.
I supose the ad for detergent
is a poem
erousing my oedipal desires
to shock amaze and exhilerate
a metaposal woman.
Back stage at the River Theater
preparing to play for empty house
the actors chatted.
Adicts, alocholics, vets and suicide maniacs
were ready for worse.
Alicia spilled her Ocycontin
and everyone helped reign them in.
The second act went well.
Julia lost her mother last year
and misplaced her father
in all that traveling that followed.
It took me a month to get her to trust me
then it got too real and I left.
Anne wrote poems for a living
and well she lived
judging by the tatoos on her back.
‘To be a writer is to be a spectator in ones own life,’
I miss quoted to her.
She didn’t look up
to see me leave.
good new sfor house wifes
your husbands are dead
gone to fight the war
got hit in the head
good news for democrats
the war was lost
we can all go home
and discover the cost
good news for gibson guitars
countrys college bound
dorm rooms will be bored
a rerun sound
good news for phizer
i broke down today
I tried to write a song
but beatles was all i could play
good news for everybody
tommorow will be the same
no reason to give up
and go insaine
good news for dr phil
were all fucked up
we see a doctor
insurance went up
good news for anarchists
passed another law
afraid of terrorisrst
we’ll all be them by fall
(Copied from sketch books)
my frenzied first copy used to
satisfy me
I had no patcience
for revision
10 cities later
shivering in an unexpected climate
i’m starting over.
-----
reborn
torn
I revel in
masculine fragility
serendipity
brought me you.
Here’s to you
blue baby
maybe
we’ll make it.
-----
by the time
I die
I’ll have
enough creactive fodder for 10 lifetimes
the biggest fuck you
god ever heard.
-emily v
--------
There was never a man more deperate to fall in love than me.
I fell
into love
and became me.
-------
Doobies on 22nd and Lombard, late on a Sunday night.
These men fall
no wherewithall
to cope
I live on
with arms strong
to climb
Three songs for a dollar
blue collar
depression wollower.
Long live sorrow!
I must borrow
to live.
Art is cheap
the slope is steep
to climb.
her song sang:
damn I’m depressed
damn I’m a mess.
meanwhile
she drank with the rest.
Argentina AArgentina
I’ve never meet you
but I’d sure glad to have met ya’.
Sunday Sunday
I’m all alone
but II’m not lonely.
climb climb
spells funy
but it’s a rhyme.
to find meaning
in being
i walked
as
the city stretched thin .
I heard gentle music
in a power drill
but lost it
when I named it.
Suddely
came late
so I had another drink.
The ice was melting on the
black pavement
and my knees hurt
like an old mans.
Stranded
waiting for suddely
i measured alcohol percentages
and my face in the back bar mirror.
‘Where the city ends
I do not know,
for alcohol
anywhere I’d go,’
I smirked at the napkin.
cracked pavement
looks good
to a drunk man
looking
down.
They confided their love
of methamphetamines
as I pretended to sleep.
Vanity
Seattle
stop lites
and a respite in the rain,
despite urban renewal
this city is the same.
Dark video games
loomed like our childhood
for a quarter
you feel beter.
We lay on our sides
as she looked at my face
like it were her own
in the bathroom mirror.
Waylon Jennings is dead
said Lary King.
We pretend we were in love
and closed our eyes and make it.
I’m suposed to
describe or legitamize
what I despize?
I never saw the best minds of my generation
they stayed well away
from anything
that smelled like art.
Artists.
Fuckers
Fuckers
high fashion
stonned
in control
boring
boring
predictable
iliterate
boring
boring
people
filling out of art school
like brand new cell phones off an assembly line.
Fuck you all
for failing to be anything like a countries concious.
Fuck you for being too good
for what the rest of us live on and for
America.
forgot he was
and thought he saw.
In the black tunnel
an aborigional mural
shone in the lightning spark.
He closed his book
and squinted through the dirty window
until he saw him self
in the refleciton.
I shop
at the counter
of culture.
I spent a year (or two) throwing words around
tossing them like empty beer cans.
Now my shaking hands find it dificult
to hold them and mold them...
and not be jaded by their tricks.
I supose the ad for detergent
is a poem
erousing my oedipal desires
to shock amaze and exhilerate
a metaposal woman.
Back stage at the River Theater
preparing to play for empty house
the actors chatted.
Adicts, alocholics, vets and suicide maniacs
were ready for worse.
Alicia spilled her Ocycontin
and everyone helped reign them in.
The second act went well.
Julia lost her mother last year
and misplaced her father
in all that traveling that followed.
It took me a month to get her to trust me
then it got too real and I left.
Anne wrote poems for a living
and well she lived
judging by the tatoos on her back.
‘To be a writer is to be a spectator in ones own life,’
I miss quoted to her.
She didn’t look up
to see me leave.
good new sfor house wifes
your husbands are dead
gone to fight the war
got hit in the head
good news for democrats
the war was lost
we can all go home
and discover the cost
good news for gibson guitars
countrys college bound
dorm rooms will be bored
a rerun sound
good news for phizer
i broke down today
I tried to write a song
but beatles was all i could play
good news for everybody
tommorow will be the same
no reason to give up
and go insaine
good news for dr phil
were all fucked up
we see a doctor
insurance went up
good news for anarchists
passed another law
afraid of terrorisrst
we’ll all be them by fall
(Copied from sketch books)
my frenzied first copy used to
satisfy me
I had no patcience
for revision
10 cities later
shivering in an unexpected climate
i’m starting over.
-----
reborn
torn
I revel in
masculine fragility
serendipity
brought me you.
Here’s to you
blue baby
maybe
we’ll make it.
-----
by the time
I die
I’ll have
enough creactive fodder for 10 lifetimes
the biggest fuck you
god ever heard.
-emily v
--------
There was never a man more deperate to fall in love than me.
I fell
into love
and became me.
-------
Doobies on 22nd and Lombard, late on a Sunday night.
These men fall
no wherewithall
to cope
I live on
with arms strong
to climb
Three songs for a dollar
blue collar
depression wollower.
Long live sorrow!
I must borrow
to live.
Art is cheap
the slope is steep
to climb.
her song sang:
damn I’m depressed
damn I’m a mess.
meanwhile
she drank with the rest.
Argentina AArgentina
I’ve never meet you
but I’d sure glad to have met ya’.
Sunday Sunday
I’m all alone
but II’m not lonely.
climb climb
spells funy
but it’s a rhyme.
to find meaning
in being
i walked
as
the city stretched thin .
I heard gentle music
in a power drill
but lost it
when I named it.
Suddely
came late
so I had another drink.
The ice was melting on the
black pavement
and my knees hurt
like an old mans.
Stranded
waiting for suddely
i measured alcohol percentages
and my face in the back bar mirror.
‘Where the city ends
I do not know,
for alcohol
anywhere I’d go,’
I smirked at the napkin.
cracked pavement
looks good
to a drunk man
looking
down.
They confided their love
of methamphetamines
as I pretended to sleep.
Vanity
Seattle
stop lites
and a respite in the rain,
despite urban renewal
this city is the same.
Dark video games
loomed like our childhood
for a quarter
you feel beter.
We lay on our sides
as she looked at my face
like it were her own
in the bathroom mirror.
Waylon Jennings is dead
said Lary King.
We pretend we were in love
and closed our eyes and make it.
I’m suposed to
describe or legitamize
what I despize?
I never saw the best minds of my generation
they stayed well away
from anything
that smelled like art.
Artists.
Fuckers
Fuckers
high fashion
stonned
in control
boring
boring
predictable
iliterate
boring
boring
people
filling out of art school
like brand new cell phones off an assembly line.
Fuck you all
for failing to be anything like a countries concious.
Fuck you for being too good
for what the rest of us live on and for
America.
posted by Bloodnock at 5:10 AM
2 comments
