Archive for December, 2014

going warmly into what seems like ’36


30 Dec

————

———–

blink

 

mood, the color of the sea welcoming you in, sapphires pealing

the lights creating a carillon along your neck

all my investments, down

the shoes, old

dirty bathtub querying how old your rubber ducky is

the one between your legs

and who’s going to sell this scene to you

now that it’s almost through

and her eyes, brilliant, brown the orbit

a blink

she asks, how long do I have left to inspire you

before I do my own thing

but I’m dogged as a beheading date, claiming

genius is both possessor and possessed

you are always free and always captive

———–

lovesong


26 Dec

—————-

—————-

lovesong # 3

 

ever find yourself

inside an embittering novel-size cruet

simply wanting

a good woman

to be proud of you

the brilliance through her supine time culet

 

* * *

 

a children’s game

is pleasant for a lifetime

but sometimes pen turns to whiskey turns to window-shutters waiting on a wind to be discovered

regimes change

madness becomes progress, and what others call refinements hover

and what I call minor renovations are achieved

 

* * *

 

and then there’s better steps and idols

and sentiments you want exchanged

interlinking, simplifying

but a day becomes the night as true

as eager fingers find excuses

 

* * *

 

there’s nothing in it

nothing

but pleasant memories, eventually

and that’s enough really

all you have to do is love her and to love it all

—————-

the sound from the next room


21 Dec

————–

————–

mel

 

he
walks like a deceased king
slumping into the paranoia of gray
doomed like all things
and unlike all things
nothing gets created or destroyed
except affection and influence
the sound from the next room
he
walks away
the swollen leg swings pendulously upon each step
he thinks about prosecco
this dime and a half he made through this new centenary
he thinks of cocoa butter on her belly
when he was young
when they were movie-stars
he
walks like damage
slow, and slower every year
the veins, more prominent, creep in
like light from underneath a door
you’re meant to walk through
because of
the second sound from the next room

————-

hold on to it, if it’s true


15 Dec

——————

——————

nostomania

 

I never believed myself worthy much

but I don’t concede, I won’t give up this stubborn pushing

despite that in the past with you

as always I wanted more than I could get

more than I could sweat through

and if we’re really being honest, no anniversary flowers bought, I probably didn’t try hard enough

and yet, as I write this

you know the remaining truth

which is

that I am still the unsurrendered and as much morning as this weed will let me see, I’ve been right all along

making the 2-hour trip (from Queens to Harlem),

buzzing from downstairs, an interminable mounting of your stairs

trying to impress you with some softness in my words

or something cooked to remind you of the beginning of the movie

maybe a joke would be better suited

I thought of us and you

and your newest year and you

and I thought that there is something to

that we’ve both grown up a little

and some history has passed

that it’s a good day

because back then, that time before,

the only way a woman could cum

is by getting hysterical and seeing her local physician

 

when I was younger, I always recoiled at the word ‘lover’ – I found it antiquated, overtly-baroque – but, once my life caught up to the true materialization of that word’s intent, then I realized that, though a more neoteric synonym could be conceived to task as an appropriate colloquial replacement, no other word would really do – like from the root, then to the stem, then to the bloom and crown above; the beauty lies in the honesty and the simplicity of the qualification denoted

 

like, my skin: her skin –

the narcissism of the shadow

the crooked picture is the one that gets the second look

and I can’t offer you the stability of money

or that I won’t ever be cruel, or condescending, jealous, obstinate, bad breath in the morning, a drunken fool once a fortnight or two, minor post-adolescent acne, a beard that won’t grow in right, obsessiveness with the details, every birthmark on your skin

and I do tend to treat the hoi polloi as either children or long lost friends

and I’m a big proponent of morning sex – especially in my apartment – and if you’re here, I wake up early; my cock, your smell, like an alarm (I hope that you won’t be late to work)

and I know you hate it

when I’m spitting on the sidewalk

potential evaporation and bio-degradability be damned

and it’s icky that I still have my third cup despite the fact

that the coffee makes my palms irriguous and dewy

I’m not good on paper

and

I can’t promise you to change any of it fully,

never been released on good behavior yet –

what I can do is to keep on trying

always

and maintain a sense of humor getting it accomplished

step by step

 

(rhythm is reaction and repetition

and so, here’s another one

darling, welcome to my heart

… let’s dance,

like you were sick and I was scared and healing)

 

—————–

back, ugly as eva


12 Dec

—————

March for Justice, Saturday, December 13th – begins at 1pm in front of the NYSYLC offices (339 Lafayette st.)

Nitty Gritty Open Mic, Saturday, December 13th – begins at 8pm at Eva’s Restaurant (11 W8th st.)

—————

—————

hemingway, bitch

 

human beings are easily broken creatures

and the breaking is gradual

and once you’re broken it’s done

you might as well join the Republican party and spit on a homeless man

become a warhawk from the Midwest like a used tampon eager with brown blood

a clergyman full of contradictions and hands darkened by intentions and the lighting of false sanctuary

a leopard print covered in ejaculant, Bowery, 2 am

an oppressor, or a puritan, or a pundit, or a corporatist, or a sadist, or a boy scout

PETA, ISIS, KKK

Ferguson police department or DA

a Grape street crip on a bloody day

anyone funding the lucrative provocations of Alex Jones

anyone who changes seats on the train when uncle Charlie from Southside sits next to them

even my immigrant nan whose afraid of my varicolored friends

someone that judges, eats day cruel, and doesn’t call her back at night when she’s been crying

one of my favorite Aussies rightly said,

“just don’t be an asshole” and that’ll be that

and, it’s true, because

human beings are easily broken creatures

and the breaking is gradual and it will come

and once you’re broken

I promise you, it’s done

————–

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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