I factory. I factory. I factory.
I am junkyard rearranged.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Racing Thoughts
Waking up to other people’s alarm clocks
Rewording sentences to other people’s thoughts
Undoing yarn balls, for a cat with no paws
Energy rolled into a lingering fog.
Writing long words on long paper to speak
To the ceiling to the bed, to no one, for me to keep
There is no net for cubes, like child’s toy, that fit
In the moving sound of a technology retard. Squeege.
These words, like sounds make to my mind, are senseless and I can figure them like I configure them in rhyme. I keep them like energy and they come like showers, fast in water. I fish for them and they bite, but not the bait. They've bit other thoughts. Half thoughts, bit by thoughtfish, kept in mind. My energyfish are thoughtfish, half-fish. The pool with chlorine in it, kept to be mine. I swim, I wish. Breath of air.
Rewording sentences to other people’s thoughts
Undoing yarn balls, for a cat with no paws
Energy rolled into a lingering fog.
Writing long words on long paper to speak
To the ceiling to the bed, to no one, for me to keep
There is no net for cubes, like child’s toy, that fit
In the moving sound of a technology retard. Squeege.
These words, like sounds make to my mind, are senseless and I can figure them like I configure them in rhyme. I keep them like energy and they come like showers, fast in water. I fish for them and they bite, but not the bait. They've bit other thoughts. Half thoughts, bit by thoughtfish, kept in mind. My energyfish are thoughtfish, half-fish. The pool with chlorine in it, kept to be mine. I swim, I wish. Breath of air.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Lucas
When the peach was bruised,
Worms in apples, or pistachios,
The day was rainy,
The rooster an early riser,
It was Lucas' fault.
A dead Lucas was a salty farm.
A bright Lucas, sweaty midnight.
Slipping into the tub
His knees up, head submerged
Lucas screamed
In mermaid languages, cursing
Pale in chalky water.
A spicy Lucas, the definite apple core.
A childhood Lucas was an apathetic mountain.
Tell Lucas and he knew it.
The chalkboard was his master
and he wore its dust.
A mime, he tickled the sunset.
With a climbing silhouette
A round Lucas was a starving chicken hawk.
A quiet Lucas was a supernova word head.
Worms in apples, or pistachios,
The day was rainy,
The rooster an early riser,
It was Lucas' fault.
A dead Lucas was a salty farm.
A bright Lucas, sweaty midnight.
Slipping into the tub
His knees up, head submerged
Lucas screamed
In mermaid languages, cursing
Pale in chalky water.
A spicy Lucas, the definite apple core.
A childhood Lucas was an apathetic mountain.
Tell Lucas and he knew it.
The chalkboard was his master
and he wore its dust.
A mime, he tickled the sunset.
With a climbing silhouette
A round Lucas was a starving chicken hawk.
A quiet Lucas was a supernova word head.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Drominus 2: Pegasus!
Out of late night bus mornings
Came a parking lot hoot
From a buzzing pink light
His silhouette was a jagged moon
Barking “Pegasus Pegasus!”
Pegasus, our neighbor’s antiquated yard-mule
Magical bulldog older than we 3 sons
Spoke like a 4 piece demon horn band
Like leprechaun jig on our eardrums
Toxic Pegasus! Hypnosis Pegasus!
We broke our mannequin legs
Orchestrated mass unmakings
Of flower pots, cars, and lawn furniture
The pink flamingo, a flavorful delicacy
For its plasticized musculature
Corrosive night as if seeping from under his paws
Porch-trolling spine-fur snarl-beast
His growl grumbled a churning in his mud guts
His heartbeat sounded like the clacking of boulders
His steaming snort “Pegasus Pegasus!”
On bikes we were Indians whistling
Proud of our chicken plucked feathers
Wearing streaks of their blood and ash
Hiding our packed lunches, juice boxes
Under ten gallon cowboy hats, muffling Pegasus.
Camped on the vertical horizon mountainside
We were sweating like peppermint hard candy
Cracked heads over hot fudge and spam cakes
The chilling night whisper was a campfire tale
An encompassing shiver of fallen clouds
Miles from the mind waves of “Pegasus Pegasus!”
Wizard bulldog, older than the sun
We soon fell deep into a slumber lust, twisted red
Dead would be our ruler Pegasus
Revenge would be our mercy.
Waking crazed we wandered sleep revenge
Our muscles bent on memory of murder
Every step lunged towards Pegasus and cut night
The last cut, was an antiquated yard-mule
Toxic dead Pegasus! Hypnosis revenge Pegasus!
--
---
--
I'm still editing this one. But it all came out within the course of an hour or so. It is the second part of the Drominus series and came inspired by the theme "transformation." From Totally Optional Prompts.
What is a poet?, this is a pretty good answer.
Came a parking lot hoot
From a buzzing pink light
His silhouette was a jagged moon
Barking “Pegasus Pegasus!”
Pegasus, our neighbor’s antiquated yard-mule
Magical bulldog older than we 3 sons
Spoke like a 4 piece demon horn band
Like leprechaun jig on our eardrums
Toxic Pegasus! Hypnosis Pegasus!
We broke our mannequin legs
Orchestrated mass unmakings
Of flower pots, cars, and lawn furniture
The pink flamingo, a flavorful delicacy
For its plasticized musculature
Corrosive night as if seeping from under his paws
Porch-trolling spine-fur snarl-beast
His growl grumbled a churning in his mud guts
His heartbeat sounded like the clacking of boulders
His steaming snort “Pegasus Pegasus!”
On bikes we were Indians whistling
Proud of our chicken plucked feathers
Wearing streaks of their blood and ash
Hiding our packed lunches, juice boxes
Under ten gallon cowboy hats, muffling Pegasus.
Camped on the vertical horizon mountainside
We were sweating like peppermint hard candy
Cracked heads over hot fudge and spam cakes
The chilling night whisper was a campfire tale
An encompassing shiver of fallen clouds
Miles from the mind waves of “Pegasus Pegasus!”
Wizard bulldog, older than the sun
We soon fell deep into a slumber lust, twisted red
Dead would be our ruler Pegasus
Revenge would be our mercy.
Waking crazed we wandered sleep revenge
Our muscles bent on memory of murder
Every step lunged towards Pegasus and cut night
The last cut, was an antiquated yard-mule
Toxic dead Pegasus! Hypnosis revenge Pegasus!
--
---
--
I'm still editing this one. But it all came out within the course of an hour or so. It is the second part of the Drominus series and came inspired by the theme "transformation." From Totally Optional Prompts.
What is a poet?, this is a pretty good answer.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Gottlieb Zipper
Sense Professor
“In these uncertain times,” said Gottlieb,
“The yellow hats,” not so popular on 5th Avenue,
“Were a Colonel Mustard dream.”
Pale and confused, student blue resumed.
“Professor, my paper, the ink and the zipper?”
“Think, son.” Scraping white nonsense in tingles
“The world is a body, the bird is flying
The zipper is ripping and the earth’s coat is dying.”
~~~~~~~~~
Very Outward Plausibility
Two plump mounds drawn on the blackboard
“Don’t quit your day job, Picasso.” Said student zipper.
He was frustration’s scarf on the deck of a confusion boat
Crumbles of chalk, like malted minds covered Gottlieb’s hands.
Back row Charlie’s North Star rose like a zipper.
“The Golden Arches, like those of Rome,
Are anthill fights like Burger King groans.”
Sudden Gottlieb, like peeling wall paint shouted
“A square is a box fish, like a knife is a gun
A line is a zipper from the earth to the sun.”
“In these uncertain times,” said Gottlieb,
“The yellow hats,” not so popular on 5th Avenue,
“Were a Colonel Mustard dream.”
Pale and confused, student blue resumed.
“Professor, my paper, the ink and the zipper?”
“Think, son.” Scraping white nonsense in tingles
“The world is a body, the bird is flying
The zipper is ripping and the earth’s coat is dying.”
~~~~~~~~~
Very Outward Plausibility
Two plump mounds drawn on the blackboard
“Don’t quit your day job, Picasso.” Said student zipper.
He was frustration’s scarf on the deck of a confusion boat
Crumbles of chalk, like malted minds covered Gottlieb’s hands.
Back row Charlie’s North Star rose like a zipper.
“The Golden Arches, like those of Rome,
Are anthill fights like Burger King groans.”
Sudden Gottlieb, like peeling wall paint shouted
“A square is a box fish, like a knife is a gun
A line is a zipper from the earth to the sun.”
Why Burn Stump Buzz Cut
The tree is round, like the world is rude
But harmless cuts are love to others
The clown was a mess, but his mark was true
And as much as he grew, the tree couldn’t cover
Carved in a heart the gothic letters MG
The burn-stump bark lonely under thick scar tissue.
Hung from her nest the benevolent Queen Bee
Didn’t slip a clue what conclusions she drew.
The cut of MG, the sharp lettering glow
The thick summer buzzed questions under her wing
What haven’t I figured that the tree does know?
What are my letters? Is the king still King?
Where was I when these marks were made?
The MG in the heart, on the tree in the shade.
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