May 21, 2009

We Believe




We believe in the sweat of a brow
and tearing of the flesh. Work hard
and dream light.
A dollar an hour to seven.
Barefoot on wood
twisting to a perfect diamond. Work hard
and dream light.
Surrounding the wall built higher and higher.

We eat what's left on the floor.
Small scraps
crumpled and fallen in the speed to consume.
It's so much older.
It's so much wiser.
It tastes like
it's only been there for a moment.

We live for yesterday.
For tomorrow. For everyone.
So they can step and stomp and rush and...
Live the life they want you to.
Bound in soiled rags. Tight,
tight, tight.

We walk with numb dreams.
Looking to the pebbles and gravel.
Holes in the ground,
in your feet,
in your work.
And in your dreams. Slipping out,
no pressure builds up.

We carry the familiar
burden of little blue tags on rusted knobs.
Slippery mud lifts us to the end.
Lapping waves at heels cracked
from failed escapes
from walls that get higher with
each
passing
moment.

We learn nothing of what they told us.
Drilling information into the
small holes in our heads.
Marching in the blood from
unknown hearts, fingers, legs.
Pounding fists thump on books
stacked
higher than the sky.

May 14, 2009

My Life As A Coffee Cup

Once but a shallow bowl
half full
of black caffeinated sugary goo.
Now in its shadowy depths
I cry
for that welcome and refreshing refill.

My life as a coffee cup
was spent watching
with cold indifference
as they sipped their large pink smoothies
and shot out the door with lattes to go.

Monuments of shrugs and shadows
build on this shelf.
I need people to order
just one cup of joe.

Filled to the brim
and emptied out quick.
The conversations,
the cigarettes and lips.

My life as a coffee cup
all stained and cracked -
cute little slogans
worn thin.

I share space with the rest
each for twenty five cents.

May 13, 2009

on a grassy knoll

Dirty water
drips away
into the
collective contamination
of gathering souls.
Thinking about sex;
talking about money

May 11, 2009

I love him like butterfly wings
    on a bridge to somewhere
              to something

    soft kisses
    crossing
       and nothing
       like a passing star
    soft
succulent

       crossing and falling
between our heads
       like butterfly wings

         I love him like wisps of smoke
              like dreams at night

       tender
          stillness
             peace

         I love him
              like nothing

May 4, 2009

Phone Call

Your rattling sounds in my ear
fuck your group logic and unworkable aim
your sections of words violate me
            I’m counting till it’s over
…seven… …eight…
…nine…

I don’t want to talk to you
handshapes and footstools, heart murmurs and assholes
your lethal wailing sutures the sky
gray outnumbers the colored glass, I see
…ten… …eleven…
…twelve…

Seven sins, ten commands and
            blue sister; you keep staring, look at what you did
stop talking, Stop Talking
using control with shiny trinkets and boxes from last year
…thirteen… …fourteen…
…fifteen…

Lisp, list, listen and loathe
I left three thousand
miles to go
strangers even know where you left off
…sixteen… …seventeen…
…eighteen…

Fuck your notions and desperate appeal
I can’t get away from your lack of skill and unkind compliments
I’ll end it now,
I’ll take it for my kids so you won’t have anymore
…nineteen… …twenty…
…twenty-one…

You tell me they judge me because they feel sorry for me
they praise me because I complain
I get the sympathy vote; I’m pathetic
so what are you?
…twenty-two… …twenty-three…
…twenty-four…

I’m too old to realize and
you won’t listen to the good
fuck you and your river; your stream of pity and your
“So what’s new with you? Nothing new here.”
…twenty-five… …twenty-six…
…twenty-seven…

Nightmares from pills I won’t take, I live in my dreams
I stopped listening to you but you didn’t hear that
fuck your insidious sound
rattling in my head

May 3, 2009

one day at a time

~~~~~~~
Monday

too old to party
fried eyeballs and aching head
cold turns mist to fog


~~~~~~~
Tuesday

circled with no voice
writing fists fly in the air
language in my hands

~~~~~~~
Wednesday

laundrymat evening
metal twist and rubber dust
bubble suds with rain