two poems, or seven minutes
or
this doesn’t have a title, and it’s really, really rough
or
this doesn’t have a title, and it’s really, really rough
I would like to welcome you all to our special symposium tonight
—
I kind of live in the ghettos of Salt Lake,
so I can drown unnecessary thoughts enough to sleep —
the big ones that hang from a chain stretched between towns.
so I can drown unnecessary thoughts enough to sleep —
the big ones that hang from a chain stretched between towns.
I fell for you faster and harder than the water did,
being the only thing holding a parachute to the ground —
it was supposed to be frosting but it wasn’t quite soft enough —
but she was stuck in the repeat: eat ; sleep ; pump ; power-nap
pork loin ; meerkat butt cheek ; fa-jee-ta —
does that mean I’m looking back into the future?
being the only thing holding a parachute to the ground —
it was supposed to be frosting but it wasn’t quite soft enough —
but she was stuck in the repeat: eat ; sleep ; pump ; power-nap
pork loin ; meerkat butt cheek ; fa-jee-ta —
does that mean I’m looking back into the future?
ah, my perverted men — drops pool along your lower lashes —
embers — an actual remembrance of mitosis ;
the roses have wilted and the violets are dead;
every sunset was a sunrise —
they once were hunted here.
embers — an actual remembrance of mitosis ;
the roses have wilted and the violets are dead;
every sunset was a sunrise —
they once were hunted here.
if we’re only here but were praying for there,
I bet your Lucille’s waiting all tuned up, just for you
on most nights, under an embroidered quilt —
Daisy, I feel you, and I want to feel more
— every day my feet grow further apart —
do I want to be sober?
I bet your Lucille’s waiting all tuned up, just for you
on most nights, under an embroidered quilt —
Daisy, I feel you, and I want to feel more
— every day my feet grow further apart —
do I want to be sober?
to
all the fuckers who want to shut me up, I have two words:
One. Deep. Breath.
One. Deep. Breath.
Compiled by Dennis Clark
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