authenticity just screwed ya: underground reality

18 Jan

–8–

–8–

riff 11

 
when they say the bronx is burning
they’re talking about the yankees
but the bronx is always burning
and sometimes a baby dies
sometimes a secret becomes further hidden
he liked fiddling with the knobs
she was tired she was sleeping
into the cold night
a dozen    
–8–

authenticity just screwed ya: a return of sorts

17 Jan

-8-

-8-

“Here’s the thing about inauthentic people,” he says on the train, speaking in the abstract. “Inauthentic people are obsessed with authenticity.”

                                             – Jonathan Franzen, in conversation with Chuck Klosterman, 2010

-8-

the jury ponders

 
age is control
a limitation on outside conditioning
the gift of finity
age is that which we overcome
we must –
particularly upon the most fragile
markers:
youth submits to adolescence
an elder face becomes opaque then
unbecomes, submits
to coffin sheen
i write again
to reconcile this overcoming
and as i age
i matter less and less
just ask the muse

-8-

The Pressure of Patience (Part III)

03 Sep

-8-

-8-

pine coat blues

 

a pint of bourbon and the pine coat blues
a singing, persistent, rises from the park cement
dead body on other dead bodies under rock
as though a loop
as though meaningful, ancient
not just another mess, a waste
some thirty-four, a boston breath
unshaven, friendly, coarse
ready to share now for a future drink
a home, a standing lamp to piss on
fuck outta here, it shouldn’abeen marking out that corner
now nothing
solemnity, a fuddled liturgy
for a night
booze and candles along the spot where he was found
the broken revelry again the next one out
again
until a coterminous iteration of the pine coat blues
is sung anew through a fresh pint of bourbon
whose glass will break to the shouts of bis
and further empty time

 

(for Tucker)
-8-

The Pressure of Patience (Part II)

16 May

-8-

-8-

riff 04

 
standing by the tree
he said,
this is the only thing here
that has any roots,
then he left the hideout
he had a movie to catch
at the biograph
manhattan melodrama with a moll
notoriety, blood, a cheap orange dress
could be worse, he thought
at least one time
i walked out of jail with a wooden gun
-8-

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
rubble to rubble
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

-=-

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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