Wednesday, March 16, 2011


your mouth opens, surging argue. you feed trains
of thought railroad ties and square traces

of kudos; left to their own demise and
not yet understood. you reck syllables,

comforting enough to fuel oil jets speed; flying,
falling ungraceful.

you smoke and lie awake
fretting, thinking foul mouths end swiftly

but can not be controlled. you
can't please them all. so you please few;

candied tongue severed and aimless...
obtuse and unworthy to touch the one you

wish to please the most. you hum dirty floor
blues, swept

away by the next set of wills filling, foaming
cats tails-a cropped candle burning

with no place to drip.

you grow a beard because you think she'll like it,
but it won't pay the bills.


  1. Ah, thought provoking. One wonders where it came from.

    Well done. I like it.

  2. thanks, I've been reading Alan Ginsberg, his imagery and use of metaphor is unmatched. I love reading the beats; something about a beat poem's rhythm that makes it seem true. i'm trying to mimic yet keep my own voice.

  3. keep it up.


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