Daily Poetry & Prose

I can't compete with the dirty pearls and the prom dresses from 1938 I can't compete, I can't compete My mind is supple like that coffee ripple on the way to my tongue between my teeth it's not as long of a road as it used to be Oh Lawd me

Southie laid a log in the living room the smell filled my nostrils upon entering like a dissonant note in an otherwise delightful tune I went to the window to see how to go about ventilating It's nothing too elegant just a poem about the cat pan I've got enough to worry about like who will be my man So I will sit with my stomach full of guts and ideas and instincts

In the quiet before the storm I've been deranged buttons undone dresser up against the wall coins spilled from pockets hurled into the night wind walking home In blasted noise I've sat in reverence quiet and unassuming I am sure to the naked eye while I am cloaked in amazement watching the musicians move mountains and calm rivers all with their hands sitting in the harsh wooden chairs like a tin soldier watching jazz at the club In somewhat pained memories I've sat running to the sounds of Sinnerman butt soaking wet from the grass where I played guitar  and small puppies came to smell my feet In caffeinated mornings I've begun stomach grumbling and lips sore from dreaming speaking in tongues of all the things I cannot say when I am awake In an unguarded and unjaded trajectory I have hurled myself even higher catching the wind one last time

The memories we share laid bare on the square the canvas is primed and ready for paint The memories we ride carefully steered last night I thought of the line, "with weary eyes I stare at the dragon."

There is a whole world in a cup of tea an ecosystem of every reaction which presides over the earth is there. In a cup of tea. The soap helps clean the pot. The water goes into the pot and boils. The dried leaves become alive again, evaporating into the water, the particles of the plant breathing and escaping into the hot water the same way smoke would escape  into the air.

Take 2 A lusty racket filled the air as the chest of the yellow bird arched up. Her feathers ruffled and she nearly began to sing. Then the woman at the counter looked down and another day began. There is danger in making up for lost time. It's an odd feeling I have this morning. I am not willing to make the same mistakes. I step over to the cage and open up its small door. The bird doesn't leave at first, until suddenly it does. The yellow wings are now somewhere out over New Mexico and the tiny bird is flying faster than a train. The sunlit fields shine and the gleam of her feathers is hard to see flipping back and forth so quickly that her flying is loud, not silent. ---------- Take 1 A lusty racket filled the air in the bird cage Her chest lifted up as if to sing the canary came out of her mouth and flew as if it were an ordinary day. There is danger in making up for lost time and there is an odd feeling I have this morning, I am not willing to make the same mistakes I am w...

The speech coming off my tongue is clouded by the trucks passing by their loud horns and diesel gas distract me from the kindness but give me a harder palm a callous and a hammer May I wield the wooden handle wisely as people are like nails and you never know how hard your words are as you slam them into the wood.

There is a map of my emotions right above the city of the South where the river meets its Delta mouth is a town so small almost unseen where there lies my silent streets at night with the smell of flowers and Northeast of there is the land of the damned though its not marked  it's easy to miss Way up high in the North there's the mountains of my mind and the forests among the stones 

Take it in your hand and hold it there a small rock, a piece of clay squeeze it for as long as you want mold it into any shape Put it in your pocket when you have something else to do but it will always be there ready to take out and look at any time you want you can draw a picture of it but don't hold it in front of a mirror Put it on your bed stand at night and let it sit so you can dream of a world gone wrong wake in the morning and stare at it while the birds sing their songs and think of happy days before the grudge took it away Now go to the river's bridge and bring it in your coat let it rain during a rain is even better a sprinkling rain where your hair gets wet and your face gets cold stand at the middle of the bridge and look out over the water reach into your pocket feel the stone. With eyes closed, reach in and grab it. Bring back your arm like an archer's bow and hurl it hurl it hurl it into the deep as the waves keep crashing and the water flows on your pocket...

I am Vacuum, Hear Me Roar the pith of my suck as I clean your rug I am Vacuum, Hear Me Roar You want everything to be perfect I will make it so running my fingers down your back as my wheels turn  as I moan You want me independent  bent and straight Pistons rushing the engine of fate Swords drawn and karate kicks stoic intellectualism storms of power it's what I am designed to do: suck. The bureaucratic  mess of electricity won't stop me from taking my cord to the wall turning my button to on and challenging the dirt of the world I can only clean when the world is flat Magellan and his round earth confuse me Karma and the wheel of fortune don't gel with my racetrack mentality I am a greyhound  and the gate is lifted  and I am trained to run As I round the bend and my legs break and my ideals crash from pedestals the sound of pots and pans drum kits falling from a ten story building a piano slamming into the cement floor. I am Vacuum, Hear Me Roar

The space between the lies the dust behind the door the shopping cart with the crooked wheel the sky puking up the sun

Do you read? Yeah of course What kind of books? What do you mean? What kind of books? None really. I thought you said you read. Yeah I can read. So like what do you read? The menu for the morning coffee, the special is on the wall. Sometimes there's a funny quote when you walk in like "all is not lost, but get found anyways," something like that. You read what's written. Yeah, like what I can see, I can read, did you think I was illiterate? No we can all the read the writing on the wall...I meant do you read for enjoyment? Like for pleasure, the pleasure of reading? Yes, the pleasure of reading. Well, I do enjoy finding out that coffee is $2.83. Books. Books? Yes do you read books? Well, it's clear I read the menu, and the writing on the wall, why would I need to open up a stack of paper, and pour through someone's ideas.  Well, it might give you ideas. It might be fun. I find it fun. You do? Yes. You like to read other people's ideas? What about your own?...

Running through the center of the sun is hot my feet feel like asphalt and the tips of cigars My heart has burnt a long time ago a candle wick dipped in wax who is your love for, you may ask? Surely the armor blackened by blacksmiths and the swords molten and then sharpened know Surely the white dress of Ophelia has gotten dirty in the snow Hawks and hippos both subdue one to the sky the other to the pond from high to low my chakras bend not knowing like a blind man bending down over the table about to eat.

 I feel like Pinocchio laying in a pile of my own sawdust Juliet conceived in the blood of Romeo