Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Lentl soup pt. 1

Do you remember the cast? It was
you and me.

The location was 10th and
a half, At a time when

The Lonelies had
favored a smoke break, and the chair
to my left to be empty.

We sat in a field paved years ago-before
it was harder to love. In a nook

of the city painted with fake age and labeled
itself to be genuine.

I asked you if words
could rhyme, if they said their prayers,
and only ate vowels with soup.

You said it didn't matter because Lent
is over.

And, now we can eat whatever we want.

I smiled and smoked,
to clear the air. A rough bunch of
words came to me,

unshaven, with sticky teeth,
poking my tongue-and I

mentioned the weather.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

the time of disco

In the time of disco,
not to long ago

Dancing found its own
way home. Prancing singers
felt their way

through the air, claiming
nothing, but being

Stretched thin, and worn tired the fray of
their jeans, reading, making more poetry than

wearer's lips ever could.

Dirty feet and clean smiles,
brought wearer's hunger
close, and

friends closer-to a quiet dream
that wouldn't last.
The fray knew

of the dream slayer,
and the Sun so rumered,

so they took what drugs they could
to stay thin-

teaching, screaming at
their wearer's
to wake. To change and give

them rest. But the dancing feet screamed
louder than Joe Cocker ever could.

And the Wearer's turned 30
and went home.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

movie magic

Perhaps I should go to blog school.
No I really need to go to blog school.
Until then my virtuous attempt, albeit naively shown,
to change up the monotony of this blog is this.


Its the ending to one of my favorite movies, F for Fake.
An Orson Wells classic.
I'm sorry I lack the knowledge to do the extra steps
it takes to present the actual clip.

It's the thought that counts-maybe.


Note the Align Center change as well.
"Is this the same blog?"

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

wishes and tree pollen

I open my mouth,which
buys me some time,
stalling until something to say
comes to mind, but

nothing comes out.
Binge drinking cocktails of wishes and tree pollen,
keeps my head swimming

and throat dry. Lacking the balance to walk
through the lines,
and the vision to see through the shit-

i'll stay quiet.

I envy my windshield; freely washing
itself clean, or staying dirty
and content.

But even he is controlled
by unseen fingers. Twisting wrists induces
him-he obeys.

I used to like the trees, thinking
of them as noble creatures

with life giving talents, until their
seamen coated my eyes,
lungs and faith.

I close my mouth and taste
their sin, their guilt
but I say nothing...
Binge drinking cocktails of wishes and tree pollen.

Friday, April 16, 2010


are we born with obsession?
or must we search for the obsessed,
in jest,
in calm rhythms,
with verve.

the steam engines of capitalism
filter out and blend,

screaming loud tones we crave,
and raw goods to be consumed,

setting fires to warm us all,
but we are hot and can not sweat.
feeding, fueling obsession.

we view coated story boards through thick screens.

believe it all or die,
a social death.

Monday, April 12, 2010

night tricks

the night tricks are taking their toll,
feelings of a mutual thought, our eyes connect and breed.
simple moments,
simple pleasures.
a loose tie of strings easily broken when walking,
the story spoken in jest,
to simple minds,
filling the time,
playing tag tequila
watching the blues beat break the silence-with time to kill.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

I gave some feelings to a rain cloud

I gave some feelings to a rain cloud,
On a windy summer day,

She took them like a thirsty child,
In a thirsty summer way,

She too played a game of chance,
And kept her cards askew,

Combed, before my eyes a trance,
And taut me songs she knew,

Weaving skins, we shared the night,
Keeping close our shoes,

We came to, in a surety bath of light,
Releasing fast our rues.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

The plastic tip, excepts the tones,
Spinning groves, casts with stones,
I feel the Soul in my bones,
And the music comes through stolen speakers,

In the middle of sound, just before it ends,
The moment will come, when my mind sends,
A chemical of sorts, to deal with the bends,
And I smile, breath and tap dirty sneakers,

Records spin, on tested speeds,
Music speaks of Souls and deeds,
Of spotted lives, a heart that bleeds,
And it tests the ears of condemning seekers,

We knowingly, willingly put it on,
Records, faces, and wigs of con,
To fill the space, before the dawn,
And load to the brim life's hollow beakers.