Tag Archives: poem

Happy Corner Space

Is anyone listening?
The Earth is crumbling
like demented old ladies,
I want the bourgeois happy meal, of pinot burning burgundy on my rooftop.
What a chuckle to find myself
Starring myself in the headlining act,
With a brightly painted light scheme,
Loud visions of tangerine,
Happy corner space calls my name,
On loud speakers, in my free wander,
My fish-out-of-water intuition,
something is crumbling, what is it?
Everything?
A crackly lisp dialect,
disjointed,
Disregard subjects,
Lift me like new knowledge,
Like when I learned what keraunothnetophobia meant
(To fear the fall of satellites),
And I flew high over heels over that ridiculous invasion
of endless stretched space, and time,
my own dimensions signified bronze tongues,
musical riffs, colorful snacks, and dinner party stiffs,
consume us.
Chronicle these nothing days,
Endless days of gamma rays,
what will get you out of bed?
Empty cycle parched by old highs,
Over-stimulated and lonely nights,
It’s a sleep-masking life.

Please see more terrific poems concerning our environment, the Gulf Coast, and people from a variety of published, old and new writers at:
http://poetsgulfcoast.wordpress.com/open-mic-k-m/

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Death heals fumbling accessories…

Limp and Pasty

Her tongue hung limp and pasty, like a tube of dried paint.
Bed bugs and wooden nickels,
Like a rabbit with hemorrhoids,
Let’s cross fingers,
Runway blasé surface change
Our separate ways,
Faces the same,
Ghost worlds linger,
Split our separate ways into
Nothing stays and actions
Guess my cherry-on-cake dream
to treat the men you could be an exit ground over juicy romantic ideals,
Dense stars,
death heals fumbling accessories.
Mind-control,
What I am paying for?
Loans too large,
Infatuations too abstract and dull,
Addicted to splinters,
polarity, my eyes,
Missing pieces, working on you, weaving into fear and laziness,
and out through life,
Walking in an objective, rational sleep,
Into your eyes,
A heavenly essence of life’s illusions,
Floating time.
Where does it lead?
Meaningless, eat some chocolate.
Bitch-slap loneliness, bratty conceit, fuck me dreamer-weaving excitement
Colored rose lenses absolutely brimming over too much.
I am consumed.
Passion drive me filled to move,
And his smell,
And I feel like slate against slate.
I need to feel love in nature or die,
I need compassion,
To live, feel hope.
I know nothing beautiful and little,
Fighting myself, lonely, projecting,
Running away,
I know better.
I took his pain inside me
when he rejected my love,
I wanted to feel weakness.
I fall back on strength.
As good as love gets, it gets strong with faith.
Inside all associations, all stories,
there is me and love,
and fighting, and then being back in life,
and the sun of mornings.
Movement, new, change,
and acceptance.
Go forward into hell and head spin,
and music and wind and original sin,
And internal worlds and if only this could last forever or die and come down and die, eventually, to change and come inside yourself.
Explode love into a million times a million dreams,
Of happiness tasteless starch,
and creamed envy,
Melted and moved
Into the world market,
Everything looks distorted,
Unhappy beings,
Wanting perfection, feeling used.
I’ve let my guard down, now I am strong,
My shield blinded love.
Blind love is fear and dependence and death,
My friend deceived and a lost human being. He shaped my world
Into a thousand pieces.
I saw love grieved and even music lost an answer.
Anthills they had climbed, and bites
we received happy to feel.
I want that reflection.
The truth to cry again,
Beauty returned to love after I screamed
And revolted with hate and sedatives
And Paxil and romance.
Yesterday was an anthill worth
my while.
I dreamt on a world of sadness
and color sprouted
and a flower of yesterday’s divine kiss
made new love from me the world outside flowered my heart burst into,
Into more dreams,
Thirsting for more, I spilled my drink and dried up and sprouted water
From beneath my feet,
From roots of pain,
I hurt the past,
I crushed my past and my dreams and loved to live for less to lose.
Water sprinkles in my secret garden.
The rest of my pain.
I am shaking and happy,
in misery I feel alive.

Like architecture is poetry, it can continually be redesigned inside, but the overlaying structure remains the same, so without edit, I expose some of my nakedness to you, um, reader.

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