I wake up to the shine of bare walls washed white with bleach,
I rise from my creaky bed, brush the cobwebs and silverfish from my head
And shuffle sideways to my desk.
I push a finger to my eye, concentrate, and apply pressure;
The congealing creative juices come forth, once captive in my cranial cavern.
My mind is filled with pencil shavings, eraser debris, and vinegar,
I let it drip into my notebook: loose-leaf pages made from
The bones of transients and plagiarists.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
You Write Like Dillinger
Fitfully sleeping; muscles burning,
Solace leaving, not returning.
Every story has a plot,
Every rhyme a scheme,
And your scheming, plotting pencil-work is
Scratching all my dreams.
Solace leaving, not returning.
Every story has a plot,
Every rhyme a scheme,
And your scheming, plotting pencil-work is
Scratching all my dreams.
Wanting and Giving
Her lip is pierced,
She’s learning to play the guitar,
In her head there’s a melody and
She wants someone to sing her a song.
Her nails are black,
She’s studying the masters,
In her head there’s a canvas and
She wants someone to paint her a picture.
Her eyes hide behind brown hair,
She’s reading all the classics,
In her head there’s a man and a woman and
She wants someone to tell her a story.
My head is low,
My eyes shut,
In my head I understand
The problem of being a tone-deaf mute with no hands.
She’s learning to play the guitar,
In her head there’s a melody and
She wants someone to sing her a song.
Her nails are black,
She’s studying the masters,
In her head there’s a canvas and
She wants someone to paint her a picture.
Her eyes hide behind brown hair,
She’s reading all the classics,
In her head there’s a man and a woman and
She wants someone to tell her a story.
My head is low,
My eyes shut,
In my head I understand
The problem of being a tone-deaf mute with no hands.
A Little Tarded
[This one kinda cropped up in my head on my last drive to Pittsburgh, and I jotted it down as soon as I got my hands on some implements. I thought it was funny.]
I solve always to member the volution.
I need no minder in order to member,
It will always main an easy collection.
with no straint and no gret
we brandished our volvers,
proachfully monstrating,
fighting for form.
I quest neither ward nor compense,
I only quire an assurance that history will never peat;
That the evil times will never turn.
I solve always to member the volution.
I need no minder in order to member,
It will always main an easy collection.
with no straint and no gret
we brandished our volvers,
proachfully monstrating,
fighting for form.
I quest neither ward nor compense,
I only quire an assurance that history will never peat;
That the evil times will never turn.
Brother's Room
Once I had a brother,
And he fought off the monsters
That prowl our house at night:
Monsters that live behind the
Laundry room door,
Monsters that peek down
From the attic,
Monsters that crouch and hide
On the dark stairs.
But now my brother is gone,
His room is empty,
And monsters live there too.
And he fought off the monsters
That prowl our house at night:
Monsters that live behind the
Laundry room door,
Monsters that peek down
From the attic,
Monsters that crouch and hide
On the dark stairs.
But now my brother is gone,
His room is empty,
And monsters live there too.
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