30 Poems in 30 Days

[Liar]

1

Yeah, here we go again...

Sequestration

I need to throw my phone
through my television, cut
this umbilical ethernet cord
and fuse the front door shut,

let novels and dictionaries,
magazines, letters and bills
fall in a lethal logos rain to
confuse the hell out of any
pedestrian walking by
eight stories down.

I need to strip this room
of code, rid my world of text,
cover all remaints of record
with a permanent marker.

I need to live without context,
a monkey in a cage, drink tap
water and orange squeeze,
eat canned goods with labels
ripped off, and breathe air
without a trademark.

I need to sleep three days
away, to stare at my hands
until they make sense, to
sharpen a lead pencil with
a pocket knife and to write
just one word.

 

[4degrees]

15-6

the crushing of velvet
smoothness under rough
starched cloth, finding
a treasure staying warm
inside a cape of
internal darkness

my hand finds you,
flesh strokes as one
be free within my
grip, i'll not be letting go.

 

[4degrees]

15-7

its only words
i give you that,
but those transparent
thoughts that free float
from you to me
are enough to sustain
detain and retrain
every bit of this
for maybe two years, you see
but consistancy is key;
don't stop, even just made-up
fake it and keep saying it
keep the lie alive
keep me half sane
another day, with
something meaningless.
it means everything to me.

 

[4degrees]

15-8

the lump in the
pit of my stomach
is exactly proportionate
to the size and shape
of your fist.
if i wrote with a pen,
i'd relay pain like
a punch in the face.
but i only type.

 

[4degrees]

15-9

excecution of lines,
words never heard
or sought
will not
find time to unravel
the mystery of my
history, the mark i leave
on my arm, on my
thick heart, it will
be smothered
wrapped tight in
killer vines, choked
in some erotic way
that seems absurd
but is so necessary.

 

[4degrees]

15-10

poems roll off someone's
fingers, a mind fingered to
climax and fixed;
reformed to a former
form, some from the same
this font is not a name,
your name
it is waves like water
drowning a brain,
downing another
do this all over again
your name, the way you say
everything
love sickness sickens me-
still unashamed. amazed?

 

[4degrees]

15-11

no poem can say
or relay the depth
its inlayed; ingrained
to refrain, resort to
impulses like a live 220
push towards a boundary
beat it to death
suck in a stolen breath
break everything like
porcelin, absorb the
sound of sharp resistance
listen to insistance
and lay at mercy to
yourself
again.

 

[4degrees]

15-12

it's 5:16
do you know where
your poetic inspiration is?
what sort of crater do i need
to dig, what kind
of sufferage and sin
will take me away
to that place i used
to live
my answers echo
from the lips of a dead soul
and fall on the
deaf ears of a ghost.
it's 5:20
do you know where
your plateau of peace is?

 

[4degrees]

15-13

the road less traveled
forks before me, winding off
into dozens of snakey
paths with no
visibility
like a blind man skipping
into the dark, i choose
and re choose
by default or by narrowing
it down to the
lowest factor,
eventually i'll be on
the road going home.

 

[4degrees]

15-14

when the last voicemail expires,
and no longer can i listen to
the sharpness of that
northeastern pubecence
that cracks as you laugh
you slipped through my hands
like a cloud, vanishing like magic
play me backwards like vinyl
because the song you heard
when you played me clockwise
must not have suited you.

 

[AChild]

5-1

Boo..

 

[4degrees]

Boo..

yah!
do it, poet!

 

[4degrees]

15-15

snow in this city
turns gray with traffic
in mid air, even
its dirty before it
ever hits the ground.

 

[AChild]

5-1

put that technique down
young man and head for books

forgotten how to have fun,
ranting in a straight line
puking blood and guts through
the nose

my brains are held in Gallagher's melon
spewing fact chunks to the awedience

without the flowers: it hurts
and I'm not quite sure that my brain is growing

industrial tyrannts
lock doors to sweat shop
the workers did anything
to escape the fire
crumpled bodies were both
flame kissed and sky scraped
leaving a true impression
of heaven and hell

all art is fetish
value taken to extremes until
it agressively slaps or tickles

pass for white in harlem
will get you dead in print

all facts but am I more?

back tooling with my own works
having fun,
snapping my fingers
stomping my feet
laugh drooling on my grammar gravestones

 

[4degrees]

15-16

suck long, and
breathe him in deeply
enough to stain forever
psuedo comfort and the
power of nuerotoxins
keep me believing that
this is love
i need you, your taste,
the feel of you between
my fingers, my lips
your contents surround my
very heart
a blanket of white
filling my lungs
over and over
you know, Newports
aren't the cowboy killa...

 

[AChild]

5-2

Winter Break

Broken
moths tell their; worm children
the horrors of my pockets
and the monsterous beetles that lie with in

bullets with a million italic
lower-case L legs
breathe fire and
leave rank syrup in there wake
as they rome the landscape
for any bastion of equivalent exchange

the grass is wet,
leaning closer
droplets on blades tell the
story of a million pots of gold
won't see work till new year

I hope the beetles don't find this feeling

 

[4degrees]

15-17

disclosure
comfort in an
over exposed posture
letting one get past
a faint facade
if you squint, it is
transparent
for those who don't
want to see, its
thick as a brick
wall of mine, my mind
my manhood
and all i've stood
for, thus far
it is only a beginning
see me for real,
the real me more
incredible
than your imagination.

 

[4degrees]

15-18

one season fades into
the sharpness of a new
winter, revisit this place
as i splinter off
exceeding the intake
by 4 or so degrees
feeling my own heat
the way this heart beats
slowed by cold outer
temperatures
kissing a goodbye to
the total surrender
watching you welcome back
the master
the fastest route to
killing everything around
from the inside out
you were dying when
i met you.

 

[4degrees]

15-19

today's will was my voice
my will was to hear
something other than
'i have to go now'
the eve of some sacrament
unwaivering 30 outside
welcoming every distraction
a hot smooth form under me
was not enough
to take away
that sadness of loss
of something never
obtained.

 

[4degrees]

15-20

if inspiration cannot be
found in all that
surrounds, blesses
and forgives--
then where?
a stubborn rejection of
resolution, reflection
due to my own
unforgivable heart.

 

[4degrees]

15-21

scissors amore
open and snap closed
cut my cock to shreds
ribbons of skin
that drip with you
i
feel
everything
one thousand times harder
than anyone else
everyone else is
on my wishlist,
i wish to enlist each
individual for one
incredible
night of fuck
and dying.

 

[4degrees]

looks like i dropped the ball.


and no one caught it.

pick it up, poet!

 

[AChild]

6-1

this is a monetary realm

the trail is not just the focus
we lay subject to censorship
from the word erotica in our name

weld with a different cycle
mend with a mental rival
the change plane is where I do my best

pass a test on my bequest
choose your jest

its all cumming
down but not losing focus

our addiction drawn to the open
void of every blank page
urge to taint it
to make it part of our journey
to perfection

others will see our symbol art and
hopefully become more enlightened
taking woes out the pocket and replacing
it with adventure

raise your fuckin' glasses to your new year
and shed a tear for me who doesn't write enough
or anyone you know who don't stay true enough
to the progression that rules their lives

raise a fuck'n glass and hope we all find a
way better this time

drink.

 

[AChild]

6-2

driven
the unseen string
guiding through the darkness

they said the masked contained
the secrets of other times
and places

stories are important 'cause
they illustrate the values of the culture

another lotus leaves tree
massages the wind to the ground

blowing smoke exposing imperatives
this is breath focus
remove yourself from behind the finger
lean upon the visage you created

light with less to mark you dark
laugh hands on belly
so you won't float away.

 

[4degrees]

16-1

too late to sleep
i have you in my skin
scratching surface, start
of future scars
like fine art

today shaves away
rough stubble of the brain
everything relative to
intense pleasure derived from
pain--
i feel a dreaming poet
slip into my sleep
its then that he grows wings
give what i can't keep
a day away, you'll lick
my bones and teeth
while we smile of ideals
don't reason with me
just feel one moment
regret and forget forever
like a chalk outline
around these words