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Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Taste

She said she liked my song

But not the tasteless arrangement

My melodies are like pigs, she said

And roll in muddy firmament

 

And her dark eyes had kohl and looked wet in the room

Here she knew she could judge me

Knew her look meant my doom

 

Looking for a flat or a word out of place

She could cut me and see the pain on my face

 

My whittling thirds and a seventh out of time

I cut it too quickly like the green off a lime

 

She knew how it hurt to squeeze some flavor from truth

Still she shot down my song

Called it tasteless, uncouth

 

Then she asked me for dope money

And I gave her a ten

Till next time she cuts me

When we do this again

 

And as she left me alone

So her arm could seize joy

I’m here tasteless in waiting

For those with taste to destroy

 

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She Said I

She said I’m as alienated from my own singing voice

As I am from the ships that cross the narrows

Same as when my looks turn like gravity into male gazes

And they bash each other like black beard sparrows

 

This is nothing I contrive or plan on a hot street

God having made me what I am

And when I hear my own voice in a tape or a phone

I do not know that person any more than a staticky voice on a radio

 

And when I turn and see my blonde red reflection

And try to plumb the depths of the maker

Who is it really that made up that face,

That I had nothing to do with, nor the sexual race

 

The proceeds of knowing come when I walk or turn out the light

I don’t know how many arguments I’ve sparked or fights

Cause when I hear my own voice in a phone

I’m afraid of it, that other thing, that I come to know when I’m alone

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The year was 1911. The movie camera was new

And when it captured the young old souls

In the pinned frames and licked their faces

Onto emulsion, the timeless New York jaywalker

Paid his debt

To posterity by showing,

Abreast the speeding cars,

He still didn’t give two fucks

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You Cut A Cloud

The rain cleans your wound
A stab made into the body of luck
An impossible good shank
And all it did was bleed nothing
You lost a thousand words
From your living steak

And the wind lifted the girl’s hair
Mellow, nothing in her brain
But the surprise of knowing
Your put a bunch of your dreams in her

You freed and oppressed her with
Your violence
You cut a cloud
And she lived in your rain

And you hope in your wordless despair
Hope she’ll miss you and the pain

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The Red Port

Guts spilled in the wreck
The pickle that floats the egg
A port where fortified wine
Filled the bellies of the sharks
Who dreamed it was you
Falling off the deck

You now get a shark drunk
To fill him with your sins
You have eyes and bones
For him to devour
For it to devour
Your job is to be devoured

You were as red as the port
Your body made the ocean
Into shark’s wine
Let the ocean be your mind

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So Many Colors

Worries are hidden in mattresses

Like dollars and nickels

And relief comes from a clear ear

Suddenly unbanked of its wax

 

Remember who took me by the hand

Rumi stopped me and said:

Stop as you look at this carnival

Half of it is just your body

And the tricks it’s playing on you

 

And the carnival had so many colors

Red, green, blue

So many colors

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Love Now

She went to the window

And her perimenopause turned on the air conditioner

“Not tonight. It hurts and I don’t want to be touched.”

It’s OK. A young lover lies on you; an old lover lies with you.

She lay with calm nose breaths

While he came up with some new jokes

The one last night really killed.

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Yellow

The magazine was dripping with innuendo

It promised nipples and betrayal

The moon and Page 6 asked my hormones to dance

“You’ll never guess where Tom Kaulitz and Heidi Klum ….”

Began the headline I didn’t finish.

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The train coughed off its riders

Who would watch hockey or meet a friend

Or hoped to meet a girl

Some had been drunk on the train

To get ahead of the way they hoped they’d feel

A young teen explained to his friend

How to mug Long Islanders

“They’re so stupid, when you stare at them,

They just give you their money.”

Another woman chatted

As loud as she could

In the quiet car

And for a while it was enough,

For me to just watch the city

The firework box of surprises

 

Then I went to the street corner

And yelled “fuck” as loud as I could

 

I heard once the bulls of Pamplona

Like to knock spectators off the walls sometimes

And gore them.

And I remembered, no matter what city you’re in,

You really should participate.

 

 

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A pile of bottles. An empire of bottles
Each leaking spirits into the bottom of the bin
Who built this Solomon’s temple? What spirit?
Just experience
These blown bottles have left their hurts
Accepted and absorbed
With desire and cigarettes

A spirit is always in five different places
I only make it whole by talking
The way the song rings over the glasses
Lose it in a bottle
Find it in a temple

Who built this? Really,
You’ve got to tell me, gorgeous
Who built this?

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