lost ironies

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Month: June, 2017

it’s weird in here

 

see title

 

 

 

 

 

 

grief bomb

so pop
goes the grief bomb
again

forgotten since it burst last no louder than a sneeze quickly re-assembling
hiding in your jeans pocket with your nickels and knuckles waiting to detonate anew
reminding you that raped as a child never goes away it’s all yours, baby
no return policy it’s the poison on your skin the street running through your head
one way traffic dark and slow as comprehending

¿what the fuck happened?
check out the kid numb on the sidewalk see your reflection in a plate glass window

 

 

 

 

 

sister somewhere

wall is something with a somewhere on the other side
guessed opposite at by its lonely sister somewhere who says
I am best so lonely that is being she’s a something that has read
her William Carlos Williams she thanks and admires
the graffiti tagged obstacle before her alone I am best alone
thus disconnected from other loner somewheres the wastes
grasslands the spines of continents cities the planets and stars each
their own somewhere exquisitely lonely a blessed lonely that
only really hurts on Saturday nights imparting the basic look in her eyes

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she would never be a planet

it was a Tuesday thought
she would never be a planet
no orbits for her no
place on a mystical chart
oh Emily Dickinson
where were you when she needed you
so suspiciously perfect your metre
(who were you trying to impress?)
and Gertrude Stein
your verse so blank
so serviceable before its time
and Sylvia so self-deadly we found you lost
and wept the
poets were useless
and she’d never be a planet
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making photographs

don’t look into the lens you Sylvia Plath you
there be monsters there
where I live too keeping fiasco rooms
faces protests and frank poverty
but I bar nature at the door
nature don’t even knock don’t
let me hear you in the dark hall
snacking on the sunlight in your pockets

don’t look into the lens this ain’t no portrait
no one will look into your eyes your smile is meaningless
it’s your misery people want to see that’s right
look over there where you figure there might be an out
so you won’t have to look at me in the direction
you were looking when I found you yeah it’s cruel
but it’s also art it’s art baby don’t fuck with my art

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shame wheel

the shame wheel spins
only slowing round shift change, the fentanyl dawn
after doing the graveyard
handing out rigs at the door and listening to plights
having to be tough at times
down here where no one backs down
no, no bread tonight no sandwiches
yeah, I got socks no razors
yer right, I don’t know what it’s like
fuck me, another OD in the men’s room
as the neighbourhood tilts into daytime
throwing its own mercury switch
naloxone doesn’t always work it’s all about timing
sirens ambulance and fire the cops stay away
we’re good Samaritans after all
though none of us has heard of the Samaritan Pentateuch
it was Eric he had a bed in the sanctuary
did he have family?
the Mayor calls it a bloodbath
then has an organic lunch
the shame wheel spins

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