Category: Poem
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2/15/09 Had It Sad (had it sad)
Poor thing Popeye he had it sad of olives and brutes pipes and green big jaws but no lips or teeth or gums is he a poor thing or a spoiled thing Or.* 2/15/09 Poor thing Popeye he had it sad of olives and brutes pipes and green big jaws but no…
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Untitled.
The license plate says NGD No God I’ll say but maybe I’m godless today because instead of narcotics I am stuck with over-the-counter.
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What’s Written Is True
He writes about me because he knows I like it or to get out of his own mind though I can’t imagine mine is a relief I’m redundant I fret and marinate and I make things dismal things the heart-weary understand but tire of I tire of me too My writing is compulsive…
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Context Normalcy
My friend says it’s perfectly normal in context My lip swelled to the size of Angelina Jolie’s lips on collagen came close to anaphylactic shock but for severe allergies it’s perfectly normal in context I can’t concentrate and I panic often but for being depressed it’s perfectly normal in context I peak…
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Dentures; A Bad Day
I can’t believe my day already my body is wearing out my nerves are frayed my teeth are falling out I put them back on with denture glue this is how it’s going to be from now on a repair job on a no-longer-new car
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8/24/03, Discomfort
Discomfort, not raging pain, is what brings her here, now, to this place. She didn’t have to come; she could have waited just a bit longer to make sure she had enough reason, conviction to satisfy her and him. As usual, it was a quick decision. Or was it? In the aftermath, every decision autopsied…
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P.S. I (heart) you…
because no one else has ever called me or my writing gentle because you don’t tire of me because you recognize insufferable positivity is positively insufferable because you encourage me to curse because somehow, some way, you get me because you pacify my angst with your words and tell me there, there it’s not so…
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Grit
there’s dirt and food under my nails simply washing my hands doesn’t rid me of it I have to painstakingly dig under each one water purifying them rinsing the grit away as if.
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To My Dearest, Part 2
*Written by emerging poet extraordinaire, Straight Up Carol To my dearest. Fuck you for leaving me. I actually loved you. I actually loved you and that is why I am hurting so much even now after all this time. You seem to be doing fine and I am still openly hurting. Fuck you for not…
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Months Later, In Response
I remember what you said about falling in love before I knew what was happening. New loves without embodiment aside from my imagination. The most fulfilling part of dreaming is before you wake up. Let me sleep for a bit longer.
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