Archive for April, 2015

short verse like medical treatment


29 Apr

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layaway

 

i like legs
because i know
where they lead

i measure time
through music
like, i know how long this section of the symphony
lasts

whether arms or legs though
i want you around my neck
next time we see each other

i need you to
reset me
find my button
this version is hardly working out
too many bugs to fix

the frangible parts
can be replaced
i can be stronger
if i can pay

just layaway
with me

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Some Shows Coming Up


21 Apr

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Only ONE Night left of Eva’s Nitty Gritty Open Mic

(11 W8th st.) 8:30 – 10:30

4/25

Washington Sq. Park PP05

and also…

The Green Earth Poets Café presents

Spoken Word Poetry Open Mic at Brooklyn Borough Hall

209 Joralemon Street

May 15th          6 – 9pm           (open mic list closes at 6:30pm)

special guest: Brooklyn Borough President Eric L. Adams

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resting on my shoulder


17 Apr

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biography

 

vita brevis,

ars longa,

occasio praeceps,

experimentum periculosum,

ludicium difficile

 

a beer sipped through a straw

will get you just as drunk

but won’t taste nearly as pleasant

let’s get off this train before we keep going

and baby, Babylon may have the better beds and loftier coverlets,

but let’s just stay here – the glistens are more memorable in the ghetto regardless – if you’re willing,

and I’ll spread out my afghan

made by Brooklyn hands creased by small rivulets of weary blood

for us to lie comfortably upon,

envisaging the wonders of hanging gardens above us

both of us knowing because of the past and because your temple is

resting on my shoulder now

that the most miserable sound in the history of human sentiency

is other people making love to your woman inside your head

 

it’s been agreed upon by all those with a vote on the matter

I am my own inept biographer

creating historical accounts from falsehoods and fantasies

a hoodwinker who never forgets anything because there was never anything to remember

a face that simply says ‘keep blinking’

an emotionally-unavailable drunkard

the man who sleeps inside the sky

you are yourself

but I am myriad

a plethora of shadows nurtured by broad steps

stumbling, palm across the alley brick

rambling loudly like a tyrant something like,

——–“it is only those that have claimed to love you

——–that have the capacity to fuck you over

——–everyone else is just acting accordingly…”

I am some witty parts, some salty, one autodidactic,

all much too prideful, most unbearably stubborn

bellies full of cheap, mongrelly ingredients churning

gin and citrus keep me clean and regular

merry as a butterfly who knows how long this lasts

knows it all to be a cycle, rebirth unnecessary after the one go-round

we, each of us, spin, then become what we were

a scattering of sleepy, cracking stars chasing after Eos

the cylinder creates the illusion of moving chroma

though born poor, though die poor – the quicksand of my living was made of gold

it was, over time, put into small, leather pouches

given unto lacquered fingers of the ones that kept me sane

breathing

the ones that didn’t so easily believe me

– did you?

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nothing to ignore, the world complains


12 Apr

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dream sequence after she touched my arm

 

this is my dream of a floating world

where everything is correct

currency is open-warfare lust

you have a touch that pours the bourbon sweet

it takes time

it always has

we’re sailing through it

the acid makes me lazy (like Lazarus’s hypocoristic)

so rest with me, the world can sway all on its own

around us for a while

just learn to let the colors play, little darling, soak inside each iris

do you enjoy creating these new cosmoses with me

without ever leaving this bed

and hey, watch where you wave that thing

there’s already too many burn scars on this blanket

too much ash seeped into the threading of the sheets

don’t give me that look, baby, I won’t be cross

(won’t wear one either, if you ask)

don’t let it concern you though, de trop

we’ll wash each other clean eventually

let me just finish my drink

(you poured it sweet again)

and sleep with you another little while

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Three Nights Left


10 Apr

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Only three nights left to catch The Nitty Gritty at Eva’s (11 W8th st./8:30 – 10:30)… it was announced that after these three Saturdays coming up we will be losing the stage, so come and patronize while still granted the chance.

Jack will surely be there (or smoking outside). New piece will be here by Sunday.

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all about coming back…


03 Apr

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pastiche, like numbering smoke

 

we wuz who we wuz

it is what it is

we know what we know

it goes where it goes

 

it might be only due

to my location and my pea coat

but I’m feeling like a Leonard Cohen looking for his Janis Joplin

as she in turn was looking for Kris Kristofferson

on her elevator ride

yet I’m still lost in the spectral eyes of someone else’s ancestry

a fabular darkness I destroyed so I can live again

as diamond

 

it must be tough knowing that you’ll always be loved

 

hearts are hearts

the mind roams then dissipates

the smart people are never in the room

the cheap lighter has been adjusted for pyromaniacal debauchery

and for the one-hitter I’ll smoke through outside tomorrow’s venue

 

we are stronger than our history

we are more than the arbitrary collection of

                               events that preceded us

we can change, we can become new in seconds

but most of us stay the same

either way, don’t get lost

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Come out to Eva’s (11 W8th st.) tomorrow night for a dope Nitty Gritty Open Mic night (8:30pm – 10:30)

Also, I would like to happily announce the return of the Washington Sq. Park Poetry Project, hosted by yours truly, coming back later this month (date tba – will be providing more info soon)…

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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