Liquor Store Holdup....or (Afterimage)

Diving in your little black spot....the one you flee, but all for naught....hot on the heels...hot on the heels...hot on....and just plain hot....light draws that line and deeper still...infected wit...erected will....spend it spilling the dispenser...and the thought....of thoughts....upside down and deep outside...your afterimage lets me ride....and remember with my better self the arid air up on that memory shelf....disturbed and dusted....stirred like waxy trust and water...and some unforgiving friendship fodder...fly it in and pack it up tight....the ticky tack tape suggests a rape...but no...it’s the history of a come and go show...with ready witness on the watch...and that cold twenty-two aimed at your crotch...thrillseeking high and no hints of why...cash grab and cruise...made to win and born to lose...sharp chins and courage...twitchy little fingers...rage...rage on....rage right on in....that theatre of thought and hard knox heart...finish strong...fuck the start.

Spiderwebmind

The root from which all things sprout
is here in the center.

Links and trunks originate from a much deeper place
than where they stand.

The place of their conception never does touch them---
not when they've been placed and neither when they've grown.

Growth leads to more growth.
This hyper-extension attracts attention.

If the trees did grow as fast as the silk zero-one threads,
children would sit outside and watch,
wondering if they could grow as fast, too.
But they'll experiment first with seeds.

They'll learn to be expert gardners,
not so much to build a forest, as to occupy themselves
with something that grows quickly.

But when they discover that trees don't tell stories,
they'll move on to another part of the web,
wishing their arms and legs would grow so much more faster.

Rewind.

In childhood we don't think about the impact of our actions.
When we're adults we realize the meaning
Crystallized
Focused
Narrowed
In every event.

Wish
That
We
Could
Rewind
the
Moments.

Change them
Re-shape them
Can't.

I try to press the rewind in my mind.
Maybe it's broken.
Maybe it's frozen.
There's a reason that we cannot change
the past.
It's meant to teach, to reach,
and to impact our lives.

Children run all day in the sun
Not knowing, but still growing
Into adults that will become
The future
Teachers
Preachers
And Writers of the world.

It is in the moment that we change into adults.
We realize that
The rewind is stuck in time.
Not able to rewind,
The moments shaped us and created us.
Impacted us.

Don't try to rewind
Leave the past
Behind, but remember
That who we are is a result of that.

Three Poets Walk into a Bar

Churn it out till the sunshine dawn

Shots of spirit
Gobs of soul
Burning chakras
Illuminati

Pass the bucket
Pass the bucket till the sunshine dawn

Melancholic memories
Salty tears
Sweet nothings
Bitter everythings

Pass the bucket
Pass the bucket till the sunshine dawn

Societal angst
--isms
Glint of glory
Drowning darkness

Pass the bucket
Pass it
Pass it
Pass the bucket till the sunshine dawn

recover · refine · release

>>press<<

Pressed for time to rapidly right the regretful wrongs of one lamented lifetime and what drink would you like with that let alone of whole cyclical civilisations sighing sorrow for no tomorrow ring ring hello can you hold please to build burnt bridges begging borrowed time need some gas to maintain modica of marriages with friends lovers mothers fathers sisters brothers strangers enlarge your penis that's stuck between a rock that reeks rotten rust and a hard heaving pitiful place so change the oil because wallowing walls closing in can I have the check please can't breathe bottled water chug glug break FREE

from the repression

of graveyard memories

lingering

on the sinking residue

of persistent thrashing waves

from the suppression

of an unwanted tectonic heart

blurring faces

without pity

for its equally cruel victims

from the oppression

of lavish dictators

branding

clueless flesh

with the misplaced mark

of an innocent beast

Washington Mutual

Coffee bean communication

mid-may musings

traffic breaks the brain

street lights filtered

unlike the cigarettes

the sickening cigarettes

filling up our

empty conversation

scratched voices

like old motown vinyl

needle pricks

mainline your melody

make it

make the death of me



separate worlds sharing

an hour or so

our _____

or so

five speed freedom

on that back river road

seated hatred still

in that cold steel shell

patent leather patience

primes the pump:

this thick sticky heat

of insecurity.

rusty rails led us home

Point of View.

Look in the mirror
What or who do you see?
Or as you look into a puddle you see a vision
Things gone by or just filthy water.
Keep looking, turn around
You're bound to find something.

Pacing, retracing, and finally you hit the finish line.
Inches from it you stop, but you don't know why.
Is it because the contest is a lie,
And there is no prize.

Keep looking,
Keep searching,
Losing oneself to it all.
This mock contest, this fakeness
You try to figure it out...
Aimless.

Eventually, you run again. Faster now faster.
Are you running because of the contest or because of yourself?
Do you know who you are? Have you figured it out?
Everyone sees you one way,
And you see yourself another.

How you see yourself is important, but don't forget that...
you have a face to put toward the world.

Charlemagne Boy

(P)alms,

Granite pride,

And the love inside

Fallen on concrete courts

Hard lines mark

Out of bounds

Neighbor next door

Spying in conversation

Asks about the rules

Nothing but net

Spinning high

The mighty ride right through

The bloody red center

Of a pomegranate

Getting Off (Sunset)....or Sex In College

That Three-North-memory that makes me smile...Next door and four doors down the hall...A gauntlet, gladly made and we were funny fine...Enough to make the stacked shoes shake beneath us both...And enjoy the ride...Look me in the mouth and initiate me...Lay there spinning your topanga canyon tales...About some high-school heroine, some idyllic lass...But i know your dirty secret that’s sharing three-hundred threads...Above our heads, below and inside...you know....Toyota tantrums in super black style...I better be careful and stay with you a while cuz it’s five doors now and there’s a...Pretty pink jealousy...Somewhere there....Take me to my flag with johnny rockets red glare....Take us to canoga...Park...one-oh-one woodland hills...Share December sun and new Bruin fun...Ninety-five and twice ninety-five...Lived loved died but somehow alive...both out of place...so just drive girl, drive.

Shark tail slattering the white ocean waves.
Shark fin cutting the ocean foam.
The great white shark fin cuts open the social body
to expose the deep red worlds,
pumping and pulsing an irregular blood flow.
Seal the wound with border barbed wire.

Meaning escapes in the most profound philosophies
and critical rhythms, invisible in sober pain.
Drink up all images in the surrounding vicinity,
they'll be stark against a red rosary and soft baby curls.

Hummingbirds don't just buzz,
they touch perfect nature;
empty of plain meditation,
plentiful of justification.

Every bud slips on tar, black as blindness,
spilled from stupid soles---traces
fall as rain, stick like malignancy.

Prime spending begets war, not
struggle, and then hands gesture
to parts and portions
underneath garbbled discharge, foamy
refuse, and stacked cement.

But nevermind the innocence
crouched under the sink---
bubblegum cures almost anything.

So, drop by at the falls, where
there's the greenest eyes ever,
and say when you've finally decided
to refuse effort and embrace indolence.

this is us. you're welcome.

challenge the distant meadow silks between the tree barks
and mellow fusion occurs...
...never brought out condensation from
icy blue moon waters
but they fall besides...
...brimmed out tragic lust formed upon those love drops...
...simmering charged and opened compartments of developed musings.

My Pirate Name.

Your Pirate Name Is...

Mad Jenny of the High Seas

>>What's Your Pirate Name?>.

.

I Speak.

Your Linguistic Profile:

60% General American English 15% Upper Midwestern 15% Yankee 5% Dixie 0% Midwestern

What'>http://www.blogthings.com/whatkindofamericanenglishdoyouspeakquiz/">What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Inspiration, Again.

Turn left, turn right; in the dark.
You get lost, your eyes try to refocus.
The night is still dark, you're not a cat.
Cat's see in the night, humans can't.
Look right, look left; for the landmark you abandoned.

Chase the light of the moon, the stars, the shooting stars, or the street lights.
Can't illuminate the light, there's still to little sight.
Bite your lip, the fear of being lost takes a grip.
Skip the corner, turn back.
Is there something you missed?
No, it's just the dark
like a plague
it haunts
the night of your imagination.

Genuine Draft

light and breath, my love, light and breath. make my mind in that pitch black place...make it make me love you and forget about her face...make it make me brave...make it make me not care...and make it make me share...something in the nicotine night and half hearted wailing of the band, trapped on that messy stage of plywood effort and broken-glass-passion...somewhere in that muddy maze of flesh and heat...raging eyes and raucous emotion...slippy sick lips on smoldering shoulders rolling away to the afterword air of hope, despair...with alcohol on my mind...alcohol and that neon world of white-stipe crosswalks, misunderstanding and possibility; of outside offers...of temptation...of something being lost in translation...so i enter into that blurry vision...being blind is fine by me...waiting for some company.

Geek Versus Nerd.

Geek or nerd
What's in a word?
It just means that we're intelligent.
Words can be grand and make you a fan.
Being a geek, with something to prove.
You're value, your worth, your vitality.

Words are just words.
Remember that.
If you're a bard, then remember their depth.

On

On the brilliance of a snickerdoodle I set my sight. today, tonight.

Reeling.

Reeling, spinning, dancing, and prancing.
Life complicates and uncomplicates.
Like a dance or a prance, we move to the music.
Are we running or are we sunning?
Trying to improve the moves as we move.
The dance picks up.

Spinning, winning, chasing, pacing
My mind is still racing.
The dance has a rhythm, causes my feet to move.
Uncertain behind a curtain.
Always jumping, always spinning,
just to keep up the winning.

Is life a contest? Do we know where we are going?
No, that is why it is a dance.

Our Holy Grail

A myth we can't read.
Need our hands to knead.

Swiftly scour the pressed pages of epochal egos for bright stars only to find insipid crumbs rebaked in kilns of waning thoughts of sadness and madness striking souls no longer but downgraded to academic.

Need our hands to knead
A myth we can't write,
Need our young to bite.

Trepidly taint the leaves of overgrown trees in the burning of the midnight oil perchance these woefully wound words won't whittle with the dumbfounded desperation of prodigals seeking meaning offering meaning.

Need our young to bite
A myth we can't teach,
Need ourselves to breach.

Although the seductive splendour of the world taps at the stained-glass window of pretending pantheons faking clairvoyance of curious minds a wanton whisper beckons sighing cynicism at seeking our Holy Grail.

A myth.

inspire

choice

Swirl and Whirl Over the Sea.

Teeming, seeming, . . . reeling. I take it in; the sights I see in the vast world of humanity. More or less, ebb and flow, shape me, change me. . . until I grow. I just don't know. The wind blows through the trees, just as a ship sails the seas. I hear the wind howl, and contemplate what that means to me. How the wind can impact humanity. If wind is metaphorical, then it could be political, religious, or just plain viscious. Vicious winds create tornados, and the winds don't have to be real to create the same. Sands shift, rivers flow, and still along I go. Not knowing, hardly realizing that something great might be in store. If something is in store, it will change the direction of the wind, cause the seas to whip up into a frenzy. Maybe, or it might just make one lazy and kind of hazy. Keep going, keep going; is what the breeze keeps whispering. Never doubt, never give up. . . keep it up.
Does this affect the traveler or the dreamer? No. It might be something better than they ever wished for.

Traffik

stupid is as stupid does, but i say screw it and do it -"just cuz."



feeling the sun come around the corner of my window...and my mind leaves out the front door...why do i return and return and return and burn? Does it make sense to you when you're at the wheel and navigating those roots and routes? does it make better sense to close your eyes -grabbing the wheel and swerving wildly because that's what the inside says? Does it make more sense to wear sunglasses because you've come to love those lenses and like the lies? Does it make more sense to run those fingers along those locks and tell yourself it matters and that beauty is all in how you define it? and did you find it? What kind of crazy metal has you out there making what's mad feel sane and what's sane seem strange? do you follow? do you lead? do you even bother to signal? because i never saw any that made me aware. look left and right...look left....right? and don't forget that i had my moments too...that when you looked somewhere else...and my eyes turned to you...and they ended up watching....while you calmly took your exit...did you get where you thought you were going? did you ever check your mirrors and think about the way things go? I know you know. transitions are like offramps on the freeway...where did i hear that again? does it even matter....? transitions--and long days in between--long days with lots of warm sunshine and empty rooms--lots of hellos to strangers...hello stranger.



and by the way, did that iced half double decafienated half-hearted and triple whipped memory mean more to you than to me?

Friends.

Some of us don't realize how important our friends are until they are there in a time of need. I know that my friends mean the world to me, and without them I would lose something. The times that I realize how important my friends are is when they are there in a time of need. If I need someone to talk to they are there, and if I need a shoulder to lean on they're there. Or, if I just want to have some fun they are there. It takes times when you receive a setback to make you appreciate your friends. That should not be the case, they should always be appreciated and thanked for their steadfast friendship. So...Thanks to all of my friends (you know who you are).

Poetry.

What is poetry? I ask myself that question all of the time. Is it a summer breeze blowing through the trees? Very often poetry takes on a deeper meaning. One might read something by Keats and find the symbolism and profound meaning that written poetry can convey. However, not all poetry is written. Poetry can be present in motion, in nature, in the air, and on the page. The poetry present everywhere but on the page gives rise to feelings of appreciation for things beyond the busy tumult that is life. The printed text conveys meaning and feeling. Don't the other forms of poetry do the same? I can appreciate the breeze blowing through the trees just as I can appreciate Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven." Poetry in all its forms gives rise to enlightenment and the understanding of emotion. Just my two cents.