Ecdysis

04 Dec

—-7—-

—-7—-

all fragile myths

 
the
      great
                art
only requires the audience
            of only 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
            only merits you
(tired eyes and glasses on the nightstand
(by the cigarettes, ashtray in lights)
—-7—-

vacation plans

29 Nov

———7———–

———7———–

bitterness

 

who’s to say
– it isn’t art
to bury that plastic cup
underneath the earth
a shallow grave
a representation of humanity’s effect
or some such shit, nothing sui generis, to be sure or to be late
but I have not seen spirit in artistic expression in so long
outside of music
some celluloid
a few brief words
a naked statue
and so much smoke
that’s why i wonder why i expect so much and yet
i’ve wasted at least ten years on a garbage person
that i’ve transformed into vision
in just that manner
because i thought it was
as though i was forming life, something to outlive the urn
or else something new entirely
as though that’s ever happened
yet i’m frustrated now and still want to believe again
like children’s saints and shiny things no longer underfoot
but a miserable and profitable marriage
in different ways seems a resolution for us both
like her eventually becoming a politician
despite my vote
to start a war or two
or else put some time in as a tyronic despot building ruble
blaming daddy for a lack of building blocks
back before the ocean took then dried
trust me, her armies will close in fast
most won’t be prepared
that why i’m looking just for time
for the finding of some quiet
yeah, time for that
and a new ghost to create ancient backstory for
to follow softly
as mirror becomes doorway
and we see nothing but who we truly are
———7———–

first for the broken years

17 Nov

-0-

-0-

i used to think, but now she lives in woodside
 

this is the one that did me in
lenny’s dead, donnie’s president
and to read the post – goebbels has risen from the grave
took up an advisory role
an official propagandist job description is yet to be created
but no,
while that shit hurt – it didn’t cripple
(or at least for no longer than a week – i still have my records and my agoraphobia to soothe me)
the thing that did me in
was woodside
i came
i bought some purple roses
a drink to even out my nerves
obviously, i was in need of some lower case preparation
to tell you all the things you missed
it’s been a while
i wanted to talk to you about my plans
they’ve become varicolored and quite alive
our past
and how i can make you happy
i wanted to listen
to hear you, anything, just anything
to watch your eyes
to kiss you
as though three years didn’t pass
and lenny didn’t die last week
and we didn’t have cause to be ashamed of our country again
but alas
i left the roses by the door
you never heard my ringing bell
you never called to say i’m sorry either
for you or for the world
(and that’s not to say that our romantic genocide ever ought to be polite)
but this, this was the one that did me in
and now…
-0-

sunflower seeds have shells

18 Oct

——8—–

——8—–

golden bed pieces 01

 
we were forced
my wife and i
to hire
an international specialist
in the field of equilibrium
mr multivalent
when
the painting
on the wall
didn’t hang
up straight
she said
the woman in the green hat forged
though still no pretty harmonies
made her reflection crooked  
——8—–

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———

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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