Too Many Pens, Never Enough Ink

19 Sep

—8—

[favorite record currently, from the 14:31 mark]

—8—

from a political press conference to a literary interview to nothing at all
 

you gotta understand the gamut
Joe runs the game
and as the king
he allows Meeks the fifth as though it was a fiefdom
a bottle to drown down one’s AM ambition
and we all become too drunk to unlock the door
to our own freedoms
these knaves keep us stunned and humble
voting like a necropolis
 
hanging up
only works for bats, journalists and dying stars
it is not
a thing that lovers do
that’s why I stay on the phone
listening for her breath
like some renewed compassion
until the embers of midnight fade
into the blissful, new annihilation of a waking, screaming morning
and I know that she was safe for another night
 
if
after we wake up
and you’ve already gone to the bathroom
to put on your makeup
before getting back into bed
then I’ll likely
need another drink
like last night
when I first saw
that you can’t save me
from myself and everybody else
 
Leo McGarry never ran too quickly
—8—

the cover version

31 Aug

———-8————

———-8————

the cover version

 

i know that it’s backwards
but i feel like
joe cocker who thinks he looks like morrison
chuckling at belushi
nodding along
– it is a long way down, man
but, jimmy, we probably won’t end up
at the bottom
maybe an empty room
somewhere in a cover of st. james infirmary
drooling spit, bile and whatever bleeds from cigarettes
repeating “baby, baby, baby…”
wishing cab calloway was still around
arranging things uptown
where you know some thing dead just ain’t dead
not always at least
but… let it go, let her go, let her go
god bless her, wherever she may be
i’ll play the live record from ‘72
i think i played los angeles that year
no dizzie on the trumpet
but that was a different time, i had different hair
falling out now
getting old with the rest of time
the rest of it
i know
because they’re already shinnin’ the twenty dollar gold piece
for my watch chain
let it go

———-8————

13 Aug

—-8—-

—-8—-

child, stay ahead of your shadow

 

those

that

tend

to

make the world a better place

by

mere

existence

alone

tend

not

to

exist

too

long

—-8—-

what the fuck is this – commentary?!

10 Aug

—–d—–

—–d—–

for the aristocratic drifters

 

sitting at the park
laughing
planning rush limbaugh’s assassination
breathing
hands up, don’t shoot
white wine, cold on a hot day
sitting
this used to be my park
but then it moved
the fountain used to be over there
i was on this bench with you
but even then
smurfs were held sacred
smurf lives saved in this political nightmare
endangered predators in this poverty abattoir
sovereignty for the soul, but the flesh gets patted down
broken
hands, batons and bullets
for every body
another american miracle succumbs
sitting at the park
we laugh
and drink
and watch this
something we can’t change
try to sell itself to us
and just like that
it’s time to move
—–d—–

/\/\/\ pt. 2

21 Jul

-8-8-8-

-8-8-8-

a little crown pt. 2

 
I’d rather be stone dead
my baby
than to know that you are mortal
and heaven won’t exist
if we surrender
submit
a gold watch for a retirement
a bracelet for some guilt
a kiss for when the human echo leaves
I smell your daydreams
summer sweat, hot dogs on the grill
lavender along the grass
rising
we learn so quickly after all
and you might as well sleep with me tonight
forget all this disappearance
make something holy new again
-8-8-8-

/\/\/\ pt. 1

20 Jul

-8-8-8-

-8-8-8-

a little crown pt. 1

pushing on the ocean
I count four dollars in my pocket
there are still those I miss
but they relate to me
from a wholly different paper
bourbon there somewhere
and there’s a fleeting wistfulness
for what you try to forget
a prurience that you try to forget, that used to sleep away the night
like a bit of glass that used to shell malt liquor
turned into a gem, a mist of green
like the dress that covered your ink last time I saw you
and it’s fine, you know it is
memory only works if you survive it
unwillingly convince it to remain
the tide comes in
I stand before her
pushing against the might of this moment
-8-8-8-

something slight (sluggish creativity)

16 Jun

-o-

-o-

the man who liked his hashbrowns toasted

 
utterly frazzled by a fallen glass
he gets shaken up
eyes wildly stalking the rippling water
as it spreads across the desk
the papers – oh my, no
the papers!
how foolish it was
for me
to drink
while trying to
board a train
in all this goddamn darkness!
-o-

all the way somewhereinthemiddle

25 May

———-8———

———-8———

murky in existential terms

 

some accent when you’re drinking
my homey’s got a crush
and then there’s that brendan behan reference
from three years ago
back when i though it was witty
and now i just like the play
the words
how they seem to swim
with the days
and the messaging decided
the meaning minified
the truth becomes like that jury duty notice ignored inside your mailbox 
the colors, though, the light, as always
remain, i used to write about it
how that can be
a lot more
but it’s there
even without my own interaction to it
and it’s always almost enough
like familiarity with the presence
and knowing
you’re always almost there
———-8———

there was

19 May

=======

=======

apex learns

 

“It is easy to be beautiful; it is difficult to appear so. I admire you, beloved, for the trap

you’ve set. It’s like a final chapter no one reads because the plot is over.”

– Frank O’Hara

the
older
lion
allows
himself
to
be
eaten
because
he
knows
that
you
have
to
feed
the
sun
in
order
to
lift
it
above
the
bush
=======

lovesong # 4

11 May

——–8———

——–8———
lovesong #4

 

are your eyes still brown
or have they changed with the years I haven’t seen them
your skin, I know, I can see
has scars like new gods
peccable upon it
as though creating myths on empty planets
waiting on some unifying abyss
to blithely bring it all together
the granite box on your nightstand like a bird wing
that keeps pages and my soul
dreams in tangible forms,
self-manipulating, improvising until climax
a short time until the holiday
until rest
I’ll see you reading
from across the room, still near
your eyes still brown
my appetite to know you
truly
undiminished
——–8———

Enter title here (all goes into Oblivion)

27 Apr

—-s—-

—-s—-

inside the stardust stew
 
coffee on the leader’s face
the newspaper spills the story
the police are on their way

we’ve had a time of it for sure
this flying territory,
an incorporeal place of abject subjugation, landing only
to dispense cruelty, made romantic
by the distance at which we see it
after taking off again
(the earth is always fine when one is in the air)

this is history
if only we could forget it
start over
realize that regardless of how
infinite in truth and truly beautiful
inside the cavity of false hindsight
the past may be
– we no longer need it, not anymore

(for ch)
—-s—-

back with it…

07 Apr

———-

———-

8 x 8 (lower case)

“… a government with a god complex…”
“shit, we just reconfigured monkeys, man!”
deep thoughts like,
“is society just meat over flame?”
and reaching for brevity somewhere he falls short, but at times, between a slur and a slug, it has occurred, profound utterances and more beer money,
“sadly, women will always be primarily relied
for loving on rather than for loving up…”

the body is a fragile and unreliable burden
one must prepare
to lose its subtlety
soon
eventually it will reach enough;
but the soul
if that can be considered in the simplest term
rather than going into any religious division-of-divinity reading
i’d prefer to tie it
very much like a noose
and just as easily instead
to the reason a being can be
at all

“my algorithmic reason for ‘no regrets’ is: don’t even regret the thing that dies you – cause regret is the only thing that you can take with you, and it’s a weight – you shouldn’t even take the love with you either, leave it to the world, not enough of it around as it is… but, regret, fuck, you don’t need that baggage, brother…”

a response for his monk-like dilettantism
like henry cotton is all about them smiles
like he knew him back in the day
we remind ourselves to fall short sometimes
because sometimes this world is hard to swallow
and the curbs are a motherfucker when you’re drunk
———-

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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