i find manicotti to be inedible
sit. stare. click click drag drag.
her mouth wraps around her face
it feels like 1000 purring kittens
Pablo stares and no one cares
he is, no doubt, a virgin
putting the smile on and on
i tripped over your deflated ego
we are all going to hell
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
july 21, 2009
that's a lot of blueberry goop
it's been raining, streets are wet
overhearing conversations I know nothing about
the boys left down rainy streets
someone sat here before I did
thrift store searching, no better discoveries
green fields hidden on penthouse roofs
your cleavage distracts me quite well
not sure there are greener pastures
to be insecure is very 2008
high-speed trains shuttle; everything direct linked
we appreciate bar music drowning conversation
we've been here before, running madly
we've seen these buildings swallow sunlight
city memories consume every single street
we've been here before, perfectly still
nights meant for sleeping, spent manic
kitty susan lizz @ the pourhouse on 11th and 3rd
it's been raining, streets are wet
overhearing conversations I know nothing about
the boys left down rainy streets
someone sat here before I did
thrift store searching, no better discoveries
green fields hidden on penthouse roofs
your cleavage distracts me quite well
not sure there are greener pastures
to be insecure is very 2008
high-speed trains shuttle; everything direct linked
we appreciate bar music drowning conversation
we've been here before, running madly
we've seen these buildings swallow sunlight
city memories consume every single street
we've been here before, perfectly still
nights meant for sleeping, spent manic
kitty susan lizz @ the pourhouse on 11th and 3rd
Saturday, July 25, 2009
six word line poem
when I call up my mother
she tells me not to worry
but I still do, always do
I hang up the phone, seething
I make some instant black coffee
sit outside in our screened-in porch
realizing an affinity for square-edged objects
things that come in box shapes
like books and packs of cigarettes
things that occupy a definitive space
and I think of my mother
at home in her living room
trying to keep things so simple
condensing all events down to facts
for the comfort of definitive structures
- joyce, on my porch
she tells me not to worry
but I still do, always do
I hang up the phone, seething
I make some instant black coffee
sit outside in our screened-in porch
realizing an affinity for square-edged objects
things that come in box shapes
like books and packs of cigarettes
things that occupy a definitive space
and I think of my mother
at home in her living room
trying to keep things so simple
condensing all events down to facts
for the comfort of definitive structures
- joyce, on my porch
7/24/09
three couples all touching each other
he chugs a high-alcohol content beer
a phone call intercepted by screaming
flame flickers amidst liquid wax, waning
closing my eyes against his shoulder
ugly girl sleeps with the bartender
this bar boasts: no poetry allowed
can't hear. loud bar. text me.
obnoxious boy asking me for keys
man wearing a floral sun hat
writing six-word poems instead of talking
can't hear what anyone is saying
biting the skin around my fingernails
social outing becomes confused and isolating
gonna erase you with my head
hey zed, my boyfriend is here
hey jesse, do the monkey face
bar poet looks like a loser
I hope you're falling in love
men more attractive in the dark
your words are muffled by screams
judging you by your juke-box choices
singing "take a load off fanny..."
you're cute. you look very similar.
have never noticed these blue shades
strangers with all the same agendas
strange looking hair-do makes you intriguing
doesn't know what he's getting into
where is he going to sit
this girl's hair keeps touching me
that guy's collar is seriously popped
no matter how loud it gets
six words are not enough to ...
yer pretty hard to understand, love
one, two, three, four, five, ten
santa claus is kind of sexy
blind people are creepy as cher
thought bubbles aren't really that TRUE
white booty shorts in my face
we are destroying your poet book
yer poet book is DESTROYIN' ME!
yer destroying is poet book me?
everything's part of holy soviet history
beer that tastes like apple juice
are you depressed or just asleep?
- joyce, kitty & jesse, @ effin gruven
he chugs a high-alcohol content beer
a phone call intercepted by screaming
flame flickers amidst liquid wax, waning
closing my eyes against his shoulder
ugly girl sleeps with the bartender
this bar boasts: no poetry allowed
can't hear. loud bar. text me.
obnoxious boy asking me for keys
man wearing a floral sun hat
writing six-word poems instead of talking
can't hear what anyone is saying
biting the skin around my fingernails
social outing becomes confused and isolating
gonna erase you with my head
hey zed, my boyfriend is here
hey jesse, do the monkey face
bar poet looks like a loser
I hope you're falling in love
men more attractive in the dark
your words are muffled by screams
judging you by your juke-box choices
singing "take a load off fanny..."
you're cute. you look very similar.
have never noticed these blue shades
strangers with all the same agendas
strange looking hair-do makes you intriguing
doesn't know what he's getting into
where is he going to sit
this girl's hair keeps touching me
that guy's collar is seriously popped
no matter how loud it gets
six words are not enough to ...
yer pretty hard to understand, love
one, two, three, four, five, ten
santa claus is kind of sexy
blind people are creepy as cher
thought bubbles aren't really that TRUE
white booty shorts in my face
we are destroying your poet book
yer poet book is DESTROYIN' ME!
yer destroying is poet book me?
everything's part of holy soviet history
beer that tastes like apple juice
are you depressed or just asleep?
- joyce, kitty & jesse, @ effin gruven
Monday, July 20, 2009
sometimes lyrics are counted and become applicable. I fight the urge to make posts like this daily.
I never meant to hurt you
by elliott smith
by elliott smith
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
july 16, 2009
a door no one has used
upside down boxes from greener pastures
flies are swarming into one another
an aging pile of cigarette butts
amidst the garbage strawberry bushes bloom
two men passing a skinny joint
someone is calling my name loudly
the tomato plant stretching towards sunlight
jars of used vegetable oil sweating
conversation with men two yards away
accidental backyard group of sorts developing
nodding in response to something unheard
those things will kill you. hopefully.
written behind the restaurant at work
upside down boxes from greener pastures
flies are swarming into one another
an aging pile of cigarette butts
amidst the garbage strawberry bushes bloom
two men passing a skinny joint
someone is calling my name loudly
the tomato plant stretching towards sunlight
jars of used vegetable oil sweating
conversation with men two yards away
accidental backyard group of sorts developing
nodding in response to something unheard
those things will kill you. hopefully.
written behind the restaurant at work
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
july 15, 2009
lenny kravitz is half a jew
you did not go to RPI
he could have gone to RPI
my life is becoming a joke
her beer has arrived, she's happy
sometimes we're happy when we're not
half of you don't look twenty-one
the offspring's on, that's always good
vegan meat eaters in the corner
a woman too tan to hide
a questionably homosexual pair touching knees
one time you drank irish coffee
offspring's still playing, this is life
bar is crowded. where's my burger!?
two old men pointing at me
you have an eyebrow. singular. eyebrow.
they probably think we are lesbians
I wish elliott smith was here
elliott smith was probably a jerk
he'd stick us with the bill
I do not agree with that
we treat animals better than people
I know a lot about sharks
I tend to sympathize with sharks
chips are no one without dip
the choices we make don't matter
I don't feel good about this
we're talking about where you live
going to sleep with him tonight
we are discussing streets and avenues
I like chocolate covered rainbows, too
got to get out of here
are you depressed? you look it
done with this shit ::blows nose::
I've been counting our entire conversation
big belly lady sits at table
kitty and zed @ croxleys
you did not go to RPI
he could have gone to RPI
my life is becoming a joke
her beer has arrived, she's happy
sometimes we're happy when we're not
half of you don't look twenty-one
the offspring's on, that's always good
vegan meat eaters in the corner
a woman too tan to hide
a questionably homosexual pair touching knees
one time you drank irish coffee
offspring's still playing, this is life
bar is crowded. where's my burger!?
two old men pointing at me
you have an eyebrow. singular. eyebrow.
they probably think we are lesbians
I wish elliott smith was here
elliott smith was probably a jerk
he'd stick us with the bill
I do not agree with that
we treat animals better than people
I know a lot about sharks
I tend to sympathize with sharks
chips are no one without dip
the choices we make don't matter
I don't feel good about this
we're talking about where you live
going to sleep with him tonight
we are discussing streets and avenues
I like chocolate covered rainbows, too
got to get out of here
are you depressed? you look it
done with this shit ::blows nose::
I've been counting our entire conversation
big belly lady sits at table
kitty and zed @ croxleys
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
7/13/09
i think of you, every day
it's so hard to be far
i write stories about walking dogs
but i think of you, always
about how it's wrong waking up,
my green sheets are too cold
two more dogs pass, more stories -
even though i don't write anymore
i lie awake, thinking of you
who writes out handwritten letters anymore?
look at my handwriting, it's shit
but i write in my mind,
letters to you i never send
stories of dogs, two more pass
i love the idea of dogs
i guess i mean to say
i think of dogs, loving them
and i think of you, always
- cameron martin
it's so hard to be far
i write stories about walking dogs
but i think of you, always
about how it's wrong waking up,
my green sheets are too cold
two more dogs pass, more stories -
even though i don't write anymore
i lie awake, thinking of you
who writes out handwritten letters anymore?
look at my handwriting, it's shit
but i write in my mind,
letters to you i never send
stories of dogs, two more pass
i love the idea of dogs
i guess i mean to say
i think of dogs, loving them
and i think of you, always
- cameron martin
Monday, July 13, 2009
7/13/09
i think of you, every day
it's so hard to be far
i write stories about walking dogs
but i think of you, always
about how it's wrong waking up,
my green sheets are too cold
two more dogs pass, more stories -
even though i don't write anymore
i lie awake, thinking of you
who writes out handwritten letters anymore?
look at my handwriting, it's shit
but i write in my mind,
letters to you i never send
stories of dogs, two more pass
i love the idea of dogs
i guess i mean to say
i think of dogs, loving them
and i think of you, always
- cameron martin
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
7/8/09
dusk sets in and then black
lie down and sing soft lullabies
nightlight keeps away the scary things
I hallucinate shapes made from shadows
nightlife keeps me up at night
sit and smoke and swat insects
I always want summer during winter
standard deviations make my head spin
follow the curve or you'll die
swerving out of the lane, sometimes
bumper sticker: tailgaters will be shot.
adjacent bumper sticker: violence is wrong.
another bumper sticker: beat women silly
my raging feminism radar is wailing
joyce the feminist, beat her brains
brian the misogynist, break his bones
I love you now fuck me
it all boils down to him
it all evaporates up to god
god is dead no one cares
neitzsche hates christians and loves art
sounds like someone I might know
the grass is never green, joyce
lie down, touch me, feel me
I want to feel, emptiness consumes
let's be friends and write poems.
- brian and joyce, @ work via gmail chat
lie down and sing soft lullabies
nightlight keeps away the scary things
I hallucinate shapes made from shadows
nightlife keeps me up at night
sit and smoke and swat insects
I always want summer during winter
standard deviations make my head spin
follow the curve or you'll die
swerving out of the lane, sometimes
bumper sticker: tailgaters will be shot.
adjacent bumper sticker: violence is wrong.
another bumper sticker: beat women silly
my raging feminism radar is wailing
joyce the feminist, beat her brains
brian the misogynist, break his bones
I love you now fuck me
it all boils down to him
it all evaporates up to god
god is dead no one cares
neitzsche hates christians and loves art
sounds like someone I might know
the grass is never green, joyce
lie down, touch me, feel me
I want to feel, emptiness consumes
let's be friends and write poems.
- brian and joyce, @ work via gmail chat
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
7/7
biggest and blackest and most handsome
it always looked better in 1024
the furious race to benjamin's butthole
hyphenate, punctuate, and spell check, bitch
the perpetually flushing toilet in there
peeing in it is more economical
you are busy but you're happy
they share the same oily skin
who is this hairy legged intruder?
i saw the Chupacabra in Elmont
in other words, i hate him
and my freckles are probably malignant
it always looked better in 1024
the furious race to benjamin's butthole
hyphenate, punctuate, and spell check, bitch
the perpetually flushing toilet in there
peeing in it is more economical
you are busy but you're happy
they share the same oily skin
who is this hairy legged intruder?
i saw the Chupacabra in Elmont
in other words, i hate him
and my freckles are probably malignant
7/7/09
please let me kill arrogant co-workers.
break my heart. just try it.
too much sunlight and no illumination
can't write poetry under the influence.
strum guitars and bang on pianos.
exaggerating your self-importance to hipster bartenders
twenty-somethings trying to induce drunken stupor
- joyce, @ work
break my heart. just try it.
too much sunlight and no illumination
can't write poetry under the influence.
strum guitars and bang on pianos.
exaggerating your self-importance to hipster bartenders
twenty-somethings trying to induce drunken stupor
- joyce, @ work
Monday, July 6, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
07-07-09
my left hand is unequivocal; obsessed.
bricks in thunderstorm half-light, I'm cured.
golden gate! bridge my examining eyes!
I implore you. Listen. The Sound...
-michael martin
bricks in thunderstorm half-light, I'm cured.
golden gate! bridge my examining eyes!
I implore you. Listen. The Sound...
-michael martin
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