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Archive for August, 2013

Compulsion Loses Another Battle in the Long War

The cement grinds my shoes
as I resist the lonely slog
from car to sterilized elevator.

Giant waves stir deeply and compel
me to run away, get blasted, but
I’ve been trained, so I suffer, I crawl.

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Dark Day in Bright Cafeteria

My music cannot overcome
the diseased cacophony
of a shaky cafeteria, and today,
the sun is more grand,
more yellow on the milky granite.

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The Chairs in the Windows of the Tall Hotel

Sometimes, the chairs are all
in the same place.
Not always.

When they are,
I become disturbed,
feeling all of the people gone.

The hotel windows become
the universe, and I feel
lonely, frightened of the day.

Today, none of the chairs
were in place, and the chaos
stabbed at my body.

The puzzlement hung on my
shirt sleeves.

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2 Comments

A Grand, Recrudescent Soul

Nicholas visited David
in the bathroom this morning.
David’s feeling was of a remembrance,
and we don’t now why
he would think of Nicky this morning.

Nicky’s soul walked in heavily,
shoulder blades piercing the humid air
in a ceremonious way, for Nicky was
a German Shepard-Husky mix and his walk
had always been regal.

The reason why Nicky visited David this
morning is not approachable, but we can
be sure that David was in despair.

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I Am the Trash Man

The litigiousness of society rips at me, but I’m likely to blow off the residing anger, say a cuss word like fuck and move on. When it was finally my turn, my day in court finished with a tremendous victory for me and my sleazy lawyer.

Later, after all of the media bullshit, when all of the people started detesting me, the anger erupted inside me, refusing to dissipate, so here I write my cultural defense, having crushed the competition in the courtroom.

When I did the people’s taxes, I had these spirited periods of time like being in a jet when I would punch in these crazy numbers, but it was always in the people’s favor. My customers loved me except if they happened to be audited. My audits seemed to get worse and worse, and the partners always blamed me instead of understanding that I was only trying to make things good for our customer.

I went out in a storm of blurry shouting when three of the partners sat me down in Fred’s office and fired me without letting me defend myself. I was still drunk from the night before, so I had yet to hit the sauce I kept in my desk drawer. I felt put together, Read the rest of this entry »

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My Cup Says Hope, My Ass

I drive in
early the morn,
I be beast
for the man

my cup says hope,
my brain says dope,
the man goes
crush

my screen says,
God
is always present,

fuck,
just kidding,

my screen blares
Hell
in dark forest.

I punch keyboards,
hope all fraud
goes away,

and then I
might write
poetry all day.

Save me
from the others.

I might be
better
if I could
write
poetry all day.

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10 Comments

Killing My Ideas

My editor, the pernicious devil. He
swims the baby pool with a knife, while

I stay away. I dive into the deepest
end of the big pool. He watches

with no concern. He says, “Carl,
sometime soon, you must bring

your pen or type little simple
things into shiny glass screens.”

I love being lost in the waters,
and though my swimming is rough,

freedom runs batshit crazy through
my veins as I hold my breath, knowing

I’ll survive, feeling strings of love and
words and pictures bubbling in my body, but

his cackles bring me to the surface, “Poem-
A-Day, I’ll cut you deep and wide, and

the people will hate your shit.”

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