Friday, January 25, 2013
Two?
Gave
I gave in awe of you
Loss
My loss when you went mute
Ask
With hope I did ask of you,
"What's one plus one?"
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Her Paper Boats
She folded paper boats with ease
Creases pinched crisp with a sting
Nurturing the counterfeit frame
Set a goliath for guppy waters
But on a current of teeth?
Feeble as the hands bent to pretend the honest sail
Soak and fail this print of mush in the vast
Then send another boat sinking
Then another boat sinking
These are the passages she folded so free
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
The Song's Working Title Was "Why Did It Die?"
Though I might try I can not write what was just recently thrown away. First it must drown. Rot. Suffer. Decay. Wither in absence of the one who let go. Then I'll gaze at that death preserved, some voodoo shrunken head at which I can piss on in great relief.
Until I tinkle, in apropos of the current hurt (yay) I'll leave it best to the Beatles to sing For No One.
Until I tinkle, in apropos of the current hurt (yay) I'll leave it best to the Beatles to sing For No One.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Sonnet CXXXVII
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
And to this false plague are they now transferred.
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
And to this false plague are they now transferred.
-- Shakespeare's Sonnets, William Shakespeare
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Sully Drop Sigh
See? This grey dawn is as the deep of winter
The grease of throughways and the veil of rooftops made scant
By the plod of punching rain
To weep
By this rave a typhoon did whip
And maim the happy poor
And drown the many boatless
And made slinky dancers of palms
Broadcasting the float of all that is filth
On flood rivers of careless ruin steering wicked disaster
To all those sunless within the vicinity of this
Garbage crumpled to hurt
An inept bastard trashed
Who then cries
"See? This grey dawn is as"
The grease of throughways and the veil of rooftops made scant
By the plod of punching rain
To weep
By this rave a typhoon did whip
And maim the happy poor
And drown the many boatless
And made slinky dancers of palms
Broadcasting the float of all that is filth
On flood rivers of careless ruin steering wicked disaster
To all those sunless within the vicinity of this
Garbage crumpled to hurt
An inept bastard trashed
Who then cries
"See? This grey dawn is as"
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Ahead of Mr. Stays
The warmth lingers but soon is gone
with remnants of the prior good slipping across asphalt
Past stop signs that remain stationary and designated one ways
But the slip goes its own way and moves despite our bridle aims
(How feeble our tried controlling)
As gone, it goes again further
In the empty made past, the cold reigns and creeps to rub those left
Who sought and hold onto what made the prior great
Then to he who looks down and stays
And holds roses in full, thorns breaking as deep as it is embraced
He bleeds with knowing what pain that is this grip
To hurt himself in hope what was the good, persists
But she walked (as they all walked) in the wake of what he does not grasp:
To persist he too must go
To be good is to go
With the warmth that slips and the cold that creeps
Down that road where they've gone ahead
So fit in their endeavor, found warmth for themselves
and with able men who move past signs and walk their own way
fighting cold with a coat of weathered callouses
See as he perceives, naked but stained in thorns
Still standing the ill as all the rest go on across
With the last of that linger with a grip bleeding steady dumb
Relief in seeing the fire of women who lived on
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
The Crash and The Mistress
I'm neither dent nor care in this world of hers
For all her woes I am of little worth and
So should it be that she is such; she toils hard and I'm just a bum
The loud mass that speak and say to her
Commanding, deciding "Do what must"
I am just one who has given unfit heart
In faint voice suggesting "Do what you like"
Heard or unheard I am left hanging
As a care not cared for, evident by stranding through silence
And I alone to myself so quiet I think it just
To go to bed and not wake
Yes embrace the pillows of how I crash
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