The Pressure of Patience

26 Apr

-8-

-8-

jokes with a mirror (exercises of the demiurge)

 
most decent writers
in their artistic nascency
attempt a stab at a
love story
striving to make it fatal
striving to make it metal
then they live a little
and a few stabs have been attempted at them
a few slabs of being have been excised  
they might become better writers
they might get hoarse, creatively,
spiritually, whathaveyou
but they never
take a stab at a
love story
again
-8-

uncle frank returns

05 Apr

-8-

-8-

untitled (elvis jesus medgar uncle frank)

 
he said
people
are just messin’ bags of reaction
some wear pearls
some beat their wives
some hurt, some pain
some sleep, some stay and some just barely remain
some steal, some cheat, some are full
some are generous, some are brutal
some become presidents others convicts
all react
as they keep on movin’
retreat, submit, conquer, continue, on and on
reactionaries, all of ‘em, reactionaries
people, barely people  
-8-

shame

30 Mar

=8-

=8-

over

 
maybe it’s a weakness
but I need
to fall
into the arms of a woman
my head upon the sitting thighs
tonight
tomorrow
a good woman
one that will comfort past the epigraph
no et al, past the marble, the bronze
a cursory fetish, a curiosity tickled
lips treasuring a churlish quiet, a bottom lip to love
slanted snide, waiting to be bitten
tomorrow
tonight
I’m already falling
a conjuring so cruel
I’m falling now
where is our bed

lead me then shoot me

=8-

ash

23 Mar

—8—

—8—

smoke

Oppenheimer loved John Dunn
his poesy, his face, respectful panic
I sit here finishing up
this short stanza, like melting skin
lapping up milk from a cold metal cup
keeping strong, alpha strong and shit
wondering who’ll ignite this world
on my behalf
—8—

uncle frank

11 Mar

-8-

-8-

uncle frank illuminated

 
yo, i don’t even have an iPhone
but yet i’m losing my health care too
and i was just about to pop a bottle of champagne
for the first time not as an homage to chekhov
but because i finally bypassed the demarcated line of poverty
thinking that a new country
after new border
was finally available to me
but now, man, i’m getting this cough
stuck at the bottom of my throat
revulsion, neo-revulsion, whatchucallit, on the news
regardless, it’s a mess – all phlegm and halitosis
it pisses, passes, comes again, the spirits help
my doctor prescribed what else she could
reminding me my human window closes soon  
-8-

sound remaining

14 Feb

-8-

 

sound remaining

 
gonna buy me a new horn
to elevate the sound
before my hands rust
into false gold
 
gonna swim in the salt water
and dream
float on my back
wondering which narcissus buried you
 
a grand ceremony, the lark of self importance
 
i forgot that you had a similar birthmark
to lenny bruce, left cheek
similar mugshots too
voices like trumpets
 
maybe i’ll join you underground
for a good long while at least
miss barnes will see us through
tennessee blues, lots of green, musty books and french perfumes
nothing sacred
not for a good long while at least

————

ash

04 Feb

—-8—-

—-8—-

untitled (we are a country of dangerous people)

 

We are a country of dangerous people.

There are so very few, a small penultimate, near-endlessly thinning minority, of individuals, leaders who participate in the world without pride, without indulgence, without ego – or at least without utilizing these cankerous facets of their humanity as the engine animating their flesh; instead they know that they are meant to serve as a benevolent affect on the world instead of simply being an affectation of this act. We are the net positive flicker of existence, meant to fade, and we are rarely encountered, rarely announced.

We are a few.

We are a country of dangerous people.

A politically undereducated populace. Making mistakes unmaliciously.  

Then there’s the Joker voters. And the sociopaths. And the psychos. And my ex-girlfriend. A manically designed mixture of entitlement and apathy. Those that didn’t vote at all.

Elected officials, power hungry and money hungry, unambitious to make history beyond a reelection.

Myopic.

How far can you see?

At least turn around and see who you’re leading.

Who you’re leaving behind.

Turn around before you’re fully blind.

We are a country of dangerous people.  

—-8—-

framed

02 Feb

-=-

-=-

service

he said
my relationship
with my son
is like a great Nirvana song
that will break your heart
if it was written about you

-=-

confused and rude

19 Jan

———-7–

———-7–

golden bed pieces 03

 
the television breeds numb
with the cash whore
at the end of the bar
that smelled liked that one
shit pearl jam record
and opinionated daftness  
dressed like a pinball machine
and abandoned underneath an
autumnal rainstorm on some
overpriced stoop in new brooklyn
waiting on a crash, revolution
blood and academic buttes uninitiated
to whispers  
 
at the end of the scene
the cast
the director
the money in the background
the little person holding up the boom mic
the dp, the lighting tech, the camera man
all moan
because they care about their audience
they need to set a que
for a collective release  
so, good people –
know when to grab your dicks!
———-7–

catching the L like what else is in your pocket (new golden bed piece)

28 Dec

——8——

——8——
golden bed pieces 02
 
don’t be mad at mickey mouse
just because he eats your cat
and then your family
all the blood and treasure that lies therein
a crime of opportunity
such as this was
obviously
was based on free market determinations
the dimensions of these decisions
are far beyond a layman’s grasp
and don’t forget
that mouse has had a lot of fucking pull
ever since he figured out a way to invest the nazi gold
into exxon and bp
oxycontin
war defense, circinate technology   
and so, if he wants to kill you
then the country’s as good as spoken
and there’s nothing left to do
but put a few bucks away into the cookie cutter coffin  
so that you or your family can cover
all the buried fees and taxes required of the eaten few
but don’t be mad
it’s what it’s like
a bored look inside a bathrobe
a furthermore, an afterthought, faint death
a stolen heart still, a slight
indefinable souls fragmented along a limpid night

(you can only ask how cold do you feel so many times)
——8——

Ecdysis

18 Dec

————7————

————7————

wedding invitation

 

Just as Houdini busted Keaton
I want to name you Love
because how long your neck winds into your hair
marengo, war on wet asphalt smolders to gunmetal; below, each
iris shelters smoke like a blissed out execution
like those lungs of collapsed literary work
do now
but, miss, what inspiration
have you given me of late –
I am a beggar for such light touches,
any, really, would do the trick –
but aside from any causal belletristic sentence
spilled across my lap like a late last call
I have hated breakfast for three years now
because I haven’t slept and woken next to you since then
no matter how many nihilists and martyrs that I’ve played
in the intervening time
and I haven’t made eggs and pasta for anyone else since
the paprika and the parsley really made the dish, it was a good one  
obscured like the singing of the books stacked by your bed
milk thistle, milk thistle – lead the way across the divided west
this dish no longer exists inside my kitchen nest
but after a protest and an election day
it was all a paranoid dream like hey, hey, hey,
SDS or SLA – tell me kid, what revolution do you want to start today
and it was weeks after
that all the newsmen seemed to ask for mercy
and gave their own begrudging curtsy
to the atomic tangerine-hued vulgarian with the political ambition of a hand grenade
and, again, after drinking for a week I made it home too late
to catch the show because that particular night I had thought that I had seen it played before
and right then
just like how Kennedy won Ochs his first guitar
I had won myself an actress
that looked like she could be cast as either a ballerina or a chipmunk
depending on the look that they had wanted when they dressed her
and I had read into her well
and saw in her all the blood of manifest destiny, terrified, and was mesmerized by
that false greatness
like all great bloodthirsty narcissists, in fairness, do
and I walked away into dripping speculation
that told me I was right over and over, right and right again
and made me hate the piss inside the jug
and the new history that will have to be written over night  
but then again
now Adlai Stevenson has schools named
after him in states he didn’t win  
as a two-year presidential nominee
and Kafka has been resurrected to build a cabinet
and I am tied to my time
forever now
like a wedding invitation
sent out before an ending world

————7————

Ecdysis

04 Dec

—-7—-

—-7—-

all fragile myths

 
the
      great
                art
only requires the audience
            of one or two
            sets of eyes
stir, stir
            wild love
we will all be
forgotten
like
            the last goddamn kingdom
            that our doubles built
ground down by the weather of years
the trials of tempest
spent in chaos and lost poetry
the
      great
                art
forgetting
            requires only your conscience
(tired eyes and glasses on the nightstand
(by the cigarettes, ashtray in lights)
—-7—-

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


Copyright © 2010 - 2017 jacktumult.com All Rights Reserved.