reading from books older than her
your mood is reflected on my face
we're going to start a band
your hair line recedes too slowly
a woman who has crooked thighs
I think this pen has herpes
I think this might be infected
we have not been formally acquainted
wounds made by nails and teeth
laughing at his attachment to her
yep, trees are made of wood
the kama sutra is so fucked
it moves like a little person
sucking a mango fruit in june
everything really does make me nauseous
I feel hesitant to discuss anything
-kitty and zed @ witches brew, west hempstead, ny
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
6-30-09
remember that anger is your doorway
cooking meat from rawness into perfection
-joyce and susan @ witches brew, west hempstead, ny
cooking meat from rawness into perfection
-joyce and susan @ witches brew, west hempstead, ny
Monday, June 29, 2009
06-29-09
there are few things worth considering
it's hard to believe reason anymore
overwhelming fear of catastrophe constantly looming
wanting to be more like you
hit it hard and with feeling
ending in a fit of flames
tolerate indifference in these morning yellows
your confidence is not apparent anymore
why can't everything always be okay
pointless poems reflect a poor mood
in a sense we're all dying
crossing streets complicates my life more
ending conversations with 'see you soon'
-kitty
it's hard to believe reason anymore
overwhelming fear of catastrophe constantly looming
wanting to be more like you
hit it hard and with feeling
ending in a fit of flames
tolerate indifference in these morning yellows
your confidence is not apparent anymore
why can't everything always be okay
pointless poems reflect a poor mood
in a sense we're all dying
crossing streets complicates my life more
ending conversations with 'see you soon'
-kitty
6-29-09
She wrote a line of poetry.
She realized it was six words.
He is surfing on a kite.
He gets swept out to sea.
The mermaids come out to look.
Clouds part, revealing a sun-filled orifice.
He was trapped in small spaces.
I did not understand the dream.
Big men may resemble one another.
He was fine when I called.
Apple core: a seagull's only meal.
That is good, like a haiku.
The sky becomes dark and terrible.
Watch it creeping up behind us.
dark clouds hover just beyond daylight
you can take over for awhile
when clouds break we must run
she said, stop writing about rain.
- joyce and susan, @ washington blvd. beach, long beach, ny
She realized it was six words.
He is surfing on a kite.
He gets swept out to sea.
The mermaids come out to look.
Clouds part, revealing a sun-filled orifice.
He was trapped in small spaces.
I did not understand the dream.
Big men may resemble one another.
He was fine when I called.
Apple core: a seagull's only meal.
That is good, like a haiku.
The sky becomes dark and terrible.
Watch it creeping up behind us.
dark clouds hover just beyond daylight
you can take over for awhile
when clouds break we must run
she said, stop writing about rain.
- joyce and susan, @ washington blvd. beach, long beach, ny
composed 6-28-09 between 11:45 pm and 12:00 am
knows what she wants, says nothing.
how frightening to say, "I'm done."
burying herself inside, she marries him.
sirens moan outside, man closes window.
-susan
how frightening to say, "I'm done."
burying herself inside, she marries him.
sirens moan outside, man closes window.
-susan
Sunday, June 28, 2009
sunday sixers
suicides will always make good stories
if only I could see you
what do you want? nothing? everything?
rain falls; I cannot remember you
excuses made for wounds and wishes
if I needed it, would you?
what do you remember about yourself?
tree branches are straining and wavering
the sky is dark again, again
-joyce
if only I could see you
what do you want? nothing? everything?
rain falls; I cannot remember you
excuses made for wounds and wishes
if I needed it, would you?
what do you remember about yourself?
tree branches are straining and wavering
the sky is dark again, again
-joyce
06-28-09
slipping into a world unlike yours
let the distance keep us warm
saying goodnight always breaks my heart
your comedy doesn't hit me hard
nothing keeps the ego afloat anymore
dead flowers are not poetic images
hardly see daylight at all anymore
nothing like a good nicotine dream
even beer tastes different to me
-kitty and joe
let the distance keep us warm
saying goodnight always breaks my heart
your comedy doesn't hit me hard
nothing keeps the ego afloat anymore
dead flowers are not poetic images
hardly see daylight at all anymore
nothing like a good nicotine dream
even beer tastes different to me
-kitty and joe
06-24-09
it's almost impossible to feel anything
our convictions are without their merit
I enjoy watching strangers from afar
someone just said pocketbook, I'm uncomfortable
drunk poets sleep better than anyone
our convictions are without their merit
I enjoy watching strangers from afar
someone just said pocketbook, I'm uncomfortable
drunk poets sleep better than anyone
06-22-09
after midnight almost anything is possible
awaiting a man we haven't seen.
standing still, time rushes by us.
a beer too big to drink.
you're finishing your poems with periods
watching her get excited by menus
it is summer shall we barbecue?
order me a guiness if she comes.
she travels on trains going nowhere
anticipation of being on your doorstep
-kitty and joyce (moral support provided by joe), @ croxley's ale house, farmingdale, ny
awaiting a man we haven't seen.
standing still, time rushes by us.
a beer too big to drink.
you're finishing your poems with periods
watching her get excited by menus
it is summer shall we barbecue?
order me a guiness if she comes.
she travels on trains going nowhere
anticipation of being on your doorstep
-kitty and joyce (moral support provided by joe), @ croxley's ale house, farmingdale, ny
06-19-09
I drink coffee, she drinks beer
your lack of hair intrigues me
still tasting last night this morning
everything about you makes me nervous
long island eateries full of douches
its always sunday night these days
cigarettes, carbs, booze: short, sweet life
she feels blue. I'm still yellow.
smoke hangs in thin midwestern skies
I wish we could smoke here
lungs are black hearts are red
get passport ready just in case
people stare as I write alone
logic whispers fears shout need therapist
your lack of hair intrigues me
still tasting last night this morning
everything about you makes me nervous
long island eateries full of douches
its always sunday night these days
cigarettes, carbs, booze: short, sweet life
she feels blue. I'm still yellow.
smoke hangs in thin midwestern skies
I wish we could smoke here
lungs are black hearts are red
get passport ready just in case
people stare as I write alone
logic whispers fears shout need therapist
03-10-09
empty glasses leave things to desire
antiseptic light breaks the fourth wall
we sit on benches in march
bars filled with unemployable twenty somethings
you went west you learned nothing
we are not creative or interesting
I feel trapped by this form
away, walking along the great wall
two letters, heavy petters M. Y.
your fingers smell like smoke, too
washed out and half there stories
apart; morning breaks as night stirs
our poems are out memoirs, poetically
toeing the line between profunfity and kitsch
it was too cold to care
my heart burns there too, sometimes
count your blessings we're all together
things like this just kill me
affirming the least sincere since 1998
try to understand the smallest ones
your poems are better than mine
you're cute your friends are cuter
pen and paper. bread and water.
english majors rarely write good poems
I can't fee the economy ...yet
you speak to strangers on sidewalks
we mispell our words, adding meaning
we slip a lot in thought
kitty laughed as she read this
honestly can these be considered poetry?
poems are answers to unasked questions
lizz and a frenchman, outside
english majors write beautiful poetry, jerk
I'll stop talking, let's just kiss
murals of men in the bathroom
I can not consider you anymore
talk to me about your heart
I'm in love with your brain
I go in your room, daily!
you're cuter when you don't laugh
meet me on the information superhighway
this is the seventh page... GO!
I don't care that you're gone
a french man brought her flowers
we talked about our love, loudly!
hi pierre. you are drunk, too.
let's pretend we're pretending it's real
my sister is kissing a frenchman
cheap woman, cheap hotel. rich life.
you're fucking up my words, woman
we've written poetry in dark bars
you read newspapers, I read stars
quit. quit. quit. quit. relapse. quit.
telling drunk men your life story
liquor writes these poems -- not us
the jobs we mostly call blow
everyone is hungry for something new
handwriting worsens as glasses pile up
we are just where we are
I wore your scarf last night
you remind me of my cat
layers and layers of gorgeous fabric
kitty's in the bathroom doing coke
looks like this page is mine
kitty can't see behind her sunglasses
cats are awesome little things, right?
we have a dinner reservation now
tell him angst isn't that cool
I'm leaving now. you can, too.
keep her in check, little sister
just NOT enough time with pierre
antiseptic light breaks the fourth wall
we sit on benches in march
bars filled with unemployable twenty somethings
you went west you learned nothing
we are not creative or interesting
I feel trapped by this form
away, walking along the great wall
two letters, heavy petters M. Y.
your fingers smell like smoke, too
washed out and half there stories
apart; morning breaks as night stirs
our poems are out memoirs, poetically
toeing the line between profunfity and kitsch
it was too cold to care
my heart burns there too, sometimes
count your blessings we're all together
things like this just kill me
affirming the least sincere since 1998
try to understand the smallest ones
your poems are better than mine
you're cute your friends are cuter
pen and paper. bread and water.
english majors rarely write good poems
I can't fee the economy ...yet
you speak to strangers on sidewalks
we mispell our words, adding meaning
we slip a lot in thought
kitty laughed as she read this
honestly can these be considered poetry?
poems are answers to unasked questions
lizz and a frenchman, outside
english majors write beautiful poetry, jerk
I'll stop talking, let's just kiss
murals of men in the bathroom
I can not consider you anymore
talk to me about your heart
I'm in love with your brain
I go in your room, daily!
you're cuter when you don't laugh
meet me on the information superhighway
this is the seventh page... GO!
I don't care that you're gone
a french man brought her flowers
we talked about our love, loudly!
hi pierre. you are drunk, too.
let's pretend we're pretending it's real
my sister is kissing a frenchman
cheap woman, cheap hotel. rich life.
you're fucking up my words, woman
we've written poetry in dark bars
you read newspapers, I read stars
quit. quit. quit. quit. relapse. quit.
telling drunk men your life story
liquor writes these poems -- not us
the jobs we mostly call blow
everyone is hungry for something new
handwriting worsens as glasses pile up
we are just where we are
I wore your scarf last night
you remind me of my cat
layers and layers of gorgeous fabric
kitty's in the bathroom doing coke
looks like this page is mine
kitty can't see behind her sunglasses
cats are awesome little things, right?
we have a dinner reservation now
tell him angst isn't that cool
I'm leaving now. you can, too.
keep her in check, little sister
just NOT enough time with pierre
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