Sunday, April 4, 2010

april 4th, 2010

Here are three new poems.  I'm fairly intoxicated at the moment so I'm posting these quicker than usual.  I may have to go back and edit but they're done for the most part.

The second one is something I wrote probably two years ago and found on my computer just the other week.  After some editing and scrapping it feels like a decent poem.

The last one is a cut-up I wrote using the words of my Philly friend Mr. Mollot.  What a guy, I miss that fucker.  Enjoy.

dancing days

The word ‘structure’ continues to swim about his skull.  He isn’t a conservative man but he isn’t too much of a risk taker either; maturity has led him to a comfortable seat between the two.  He relies on plans and punctuality but this no longer upsets him.  His patience is thin and with each day his heart grows colder.  The world is too cruel and unforgiving and these truths oppress his happiness, but his self-confidence is admirable.  Stand by your decisions, actions, and words because they define you.  Everyone is responsible for themselves and paves their own path, luck plays a much smaller role than many of us are willing to admit.  He strongly believes in each of these statements and makes sure to voice them when appropriate.  He is a good man with a kind heart and his future is as much a mystery as yours.

only a lad

He woke up with a brutal hangover and a craving for Muenster cheese.  He had no clue why, seeing as his favorite cheese was Jack and he hadn’t the pleasure of a slice of Muenster since he was 11 years old.  Nonetheless, he quickly determined that satisfying this craving was the most honorable way to begin the day.  He knew that Raymond’s Deli had incredible Muenster because on that day when he was 11 years old he ordered a ham sandwich with tomatoes that came out watered-down and tasteless, lettuce long past its prime, mayonnaise lumpy enough to resemble a cobblestone road, all stuck between two pieces of store-brand white bread, and of course, a slice of Muenster that was so perfect it managed to salvage the credibility of the whole sandwich.  He remembered these absurd details because while his father handed a $50 bill to the most beautiful waitress alive he was outside checking the parking meter in the worst possible place at the worst possible time.  A shiny mint green Jaguar, only one previous owner, swerved off the road as the driver attempted to spare the life of a mangy dog who wandered into the middle of the street to grab a flattened banana peel.  The dog was apparently not intimidated by large objects moving towards him at dangerous speeds, that or he was deaf and dumb.  The Jaguar barreled over the sidewalk and mowed down the character who remains nameless.  The driver managed to gain control of the car after the collision and proceeded to drive off as if the situation was merely a slight inconvenience. 

He tried shaking off this ugly memory as he undressed and stepped into the shower.  By the time he got out and wiped the steam off the mirror it was a distant thought.

times of ease and laughter

I was living in a house up by the art museum where I could smile at all the pretty girls from the balcony.  The landscape of the city stood in the foreground with its magnificence and longevity.  My face always looked weathered and in need of a shave.  I would start my day by descending a long set of black stairs as I recalled the debauchery which occurred the night before.  Every time I awoke I remember being fully clothed, my jeans and t-shirt stuck to me like a band-aid.  I would stroll through the front door and hop into my father’s pick-up truck.  Those mornings were always so terribly hot.  I had found a number of blues tapes underneath the passenger seat and anticipated listening to a new one with each sunrise.  Having always agreed with a quote I once heard-- The notion of emptiness generates passion, I labeled myself a dispassionate person for those couple months. 

One morning, as I walked to the car, I passed an older man walking his dog with a cigarette balanced on his left shoulder.  Every morning thereafter I hoped I would see him again and I wondered if he was aware of that cigarette.  I flip-flopped the entire summer over whether he was or wasn’t.

I would frequent the beach, usually with a friend of mine named Bailey who I met in high school.  He was loyal and kind, but most of his education was spent sleeping in the back of class, knocked out on heavy painkillers.  I would always go hoping to see my sweet Adeline.  There was nothing I could ever do but succumb to her immaculate beauty.  Her personality was flawless and she had enough curves to keep any man’s eyes permanently fixated.  She consistently struck terror into the hearts of the opposite sex.  Oh my sweet Adeline.

That summer ended abruptly and I was left unemployed and curious about the last five blues tapes I never had the chance to listen to.  It was a time full of liver abuse and youthful lust.  I would trade the last seven years of my life to relive it all once more. 


1 comment:

  1. I liked the second one very much.." only a lad"

    - are there any kind hearted men in this world ?

    - how would you describe someone with flawless character ? can you write something with the title "flawless" ?