Posts Tagged ‘fuck trump’

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—

Ecdysis


18 Dec

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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

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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