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Thread: Poems in the key of KABLAM

  1. #351
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    Dream sketch #3

    In a dream that tastes of plums

    My mother on her someday deathbed confesses to my bald head

    That she’s been gone since 1983, long before I could have happened

    And I spiral away into the realization of my falseness

    I suspect that the waking world is topsoil

    Watering potted plants at the windowsill

    I speak to them kindly as if they were children

    Unable to comprehend their future of either withering or being thrown to the hunger of something bigger

    Most of the true primal tundric joy has been milked out like another cow

    Moo-strapped to the teat of oil rig short term contraptions belching want

    A string of iron twists in our pocahontas-bellies

    Most, but not all

    I pour water on the little plants

    Cool as a secret resting on my lips
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  2. #352
    Caution: eye irritant Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon's Avatar

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    "Cool as a secret resting on my lips"


    A great ending!
    “Give me the sense to wonder, to wonder if I'm free."

  3. #353
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    Quests
    They did fill me with stories

    But I’m not even sure

    Of the exact nature

    The names

    (Fragments in schoolbus windows)

    Of what, where or who I’m seeking

    Maybe it’s

    In the hills

    A garden of deep masked green

    And don’t you know?

    Even Mount Rushmore is made of kindling

    Waiting
    The light breathing in your hair, kinder than I could ever be

    An ocean rambling in my eyes that I’ve never actually seen

    The filth of elevators far away

    Wineglasses rimmed with salt

    The same three keys on a piano played again and again in the frost

    That’s not my world either

    But there could be a chance

    Aeries one cannot climb, just watch from below with the jealous seagulls

    But it’s probably just the moment

    That purple exhalation

    When I can feel the sky

    Smell fresh bread

    Greedily drink all the sunsets at once

    Lie in the grass with you

    Without keeping one ear perked for machinery that doesn’t want me anyway

    Somewhere there is the Kansas of our myth

    Places with miles and miles of fields where the only passing cars are peaceful hearses

    But it will be a long time

    Before I can remove myself from this hospital bed that it was never intended I realize I’m resting in

    I regret nothing, not even pulling the smoke alarms from my chest

    Surrendering only absolutes

    The great American blowout sale, going on coast to coast

    Has never been the medicine I needed

    Not for this coma, it washes away hunger

    Maybe you visited me once

    Crawled shaking out of clean sheets

    Held my hand and refused to weep

    Before you were swept back under

    By crisp airport-mornings

    And men who claim to have access to unlimited matchbooks

    Names gone up in smoke signals

    It will be a long time

    And if you were here

    A film projection Hiroshima skeleton on the wall, reaching

    You should have tied a yellow balloon to my breath

    Watched it struggle like a dog on the long leash

    And noted what direction it gently tried for

    They certainly filled me with stories

    But it will be a long time

    Before any of them come true

    The field of crabgrass and barbwire where the moonlight smelled like ecstatic fireworks

    Where I sprang up out of the mud, incomplete

    Only your smokestacked name in my throat crouched inside a tollbooth with the little fears

    Will be waiting after all the expeditionary cardiac bulldozers have passed to grey banquets

    I can’t eat their tornado statics and graduation-spraypainted water towers

    This is the journey and this is the wheat

    Someday your prison sheets will flap out the open window, clouds for the old empire

    It will be a long time

    But I will wrap the first one that lands tangled in the branches around my shoulders like a coat of mirrors grinning in the acid-rain
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  4. #354
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    William Blake came back as a skater
    Skateboarding down the boulevard in the rain

    The drops of cold obscure my glasses

    Like a grand and terrible joke that I can never share

    Buses, restaurant, computers, mountains

    This smirking desert city

    Yes

    The flower that grows in the far sand

    It sings for me alone

    When I close my eyes

    I see it’s red defying the thirst
    It sings for me and me alone

    But even if I found it

    I wouldn’t dare cut it down

    Because there would be nobody to give it to

    My wheels catch a factory rhythm on the pavement slabs, above the cracks

    Zipping through the ends of all my summers

    Compacted into

    One single

    Shiver
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  5. #355
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    Still and solid making two footprints in an empty fountain’s dust

    Arms out, ta-daa! Spin into an imaginary airplane that only leaves continents behind

    I could climb up into the hills, find a crevice and squeeze until I come out the other side of the cave into the a panicky buzzing white bathroom

    Gotta get outta here, go back the way I came into the carbonated mists

    I thought this was the hour when I’m supposed to be quiet but the circus is still in town

    So the noise of wishing-badboy experimental labrat violin turns its neck slow

    Sundial, gardening in a nonspecific past

    And I wish I could paint it, use a broken wine bottle as a brush

    But I can’t quite lift the terror, split stone into silver and toss such gems into the fireplace where the decision to go past the yellow grass started

    Peer over the fence and motion to the broken lawnmower

    Circular calendar’s subtle curve masks a certain slyness

    But I have no room in my gut for any of those who may be watching

    Wanting the coins to rust, sink to the bottom of the lake

    Swingsets in the weeds all squeaking empty

    Some sort of message on my hand, faded into flesh

    So lick your fingers and xylophone your garbagecanned shortribs while worrying about my eating habits

    It’s an apology laden bitter broth, like February rain that can’t quite be honestly warm

    Way up there in among the train-whistles who escaped from their machines, I can worm into to sleep in a fertilized rictus

    Possibly head-trauma against a tile wall in an arctic gas station

    But here, funereal green where we have allowed the water to run and brittle where we haven’t

    At least I can listen through spitless statues for what the trees may say

    About who else has been in this place with a pocket-burning wish

    Waited delirious in the dawn for a chance of catching some fickle cough from the fog

    They are smiling but it’s a quivering blue knowing camera flash, aware of noise in an island of silence

    Far away

    From any skeletal milk of church spires

    Cannot speak

    Delicacy of cold batteries

    So drink

    The difference between a lake and an ocean is how powerful your thirst and binoculars are

    Ah vision of my old friends whose eyes fire take flight like Chernobyl party favors

    You stay with me through all the coca-cola purges I pummel with my vegetarian mumbles

    If we really do live in a silent film I doubt we’d know it

    These wide gaping gravitational slowdances would be just the way people talk

    Song I once heard in French on the understatedly nightfall radio

    Place in the woods where emergency rooms spin into gameshow reruns

    I wrote a letter and buried it carefully in the shaded soil at the feet of oaks that seemed so big

    Breathing like stone, quiet fire, a tidal exertion and one nonmechanical smile

    The only one that didn’t grind and squeal in fairytale factory chuffing calculations

    In ripples they drift tittering (choke) wirebirds

    Away from my snow window

    Cannot speak

    So wait
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  6. #356
    Caution: eye irritant Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon's Avatar

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    "The difference between a lake and an ocean is how powerful your thirst and binoculars are"

    Good stuff!!
    “Give me the sense to wonder, to wonder if I'm free."

  7. #357
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    hey i got the book in the mail, i shall remail it to you shortly
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  8. #358
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    (open this poem from either end, like a peach)
    I am a blind wave of saltwater
    Terrified to meet the shore
    Messenger of thin coughing clouds
    A sapling in a grove of ashes
    I’m just
    Awaiting the bulldozer
    I know what the machines will do to me
    When I come down

    We can meet in the center like mimes
    With a secret language
    Unable to touch

    You’re just
    A wisp
    From the chimneys
    A sly gesture of air
    The wish from a dandelion spent
    A moonarrow dancing through brambles
    Behind the eyes
    You’re a lit match
    Lighthouse trying edgeward
    Signaling frenetic
    Slowbreath extinguishment
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  9. #359
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    Pain
    To what would I pray for and to,
    If not this soft rage?
    I can’t get a job, can’t work
    The people who give them out, like theoretical candy
    They’ve got my name
    And I’ve got their toothbrushes

    My sadnesses are not profound enough

    Can’t make money, can’t make love
    Can’t make the grade, the cut
    The cult, the butcher, the surgeon

    A child in the fields till a dawn of shivering calves fills his belly with doubt
    He knows
    Plucking an old arrowshaft like a gone violin from the soil

    I cannot have
    The big star nova cortex eureka from the very wound
    No
    Mine are the small, mean, petit mal passions
    Understanding with a world, a dream, a disease, a nation
    A thousand cuts
    That I wish would just open and excoriate me
    Into the doorways I keylessly know are waiting
    For those more gorgeously ruined than I have the strength to be
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  10. #360
    shrewd and knavish sprite flaggwalkstheline will become famous soon enough flaggwalkstheline's Avatar

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    The great American Past-Time/ A Historia Ludicrum

    Certain aspiring Dr. Freuds would say my car crashes are a result of repressed sexual energy

    But I have more ears than theirs to whom I can speak

    And precious few I can listen to

    It’s all static and battery-rot except for one marble

    So blacken my airplane teeth like your Nixonian rice paddies

    When I give up burning my ears out with satellite noise

    We’re gonna firework our platonic inkblots morphable down the streets of a new suburban scar

    Distort the new kid into acts of sugary martyrdom reconstructing the past like plastic surgery

    Hallowed be his sneer!

    When the money stops breathing the vision will still be waiting with chemicals in the grass

    In ripped pants for the zoo

    Here I am, first of the new trolls

    Now you see me now I’m disappearing into logical holes in the theater cellar

    Shimmering glades of coffeepot migraines

    We in the back of the thrift store fondling defunct flags,

    We beg for the cherry bombed outhouse

    Take away the tattooed morgue attendant to puke it up like yesteryear

    Or let him come to me in lace and homeopathic snorts

    Can’t even count high enough or tear bee wings off fast enough

    To win the severed loves of the bus depot repossessionary

    Indigo eye wire

    Actors on stages, on stumps and on stilts

    I am not the pixilated wood-nymph you’ve been waiting for

    Mold in my hair, bargains with Mayan death-gods stretched along a boxcutter

    Phone numbers nervously denied

    Speed dialing in the bleachers

    Smell the thorn of Barcelona

    And all the meatpacking snickers

    Marker scents I can’t induce downwind galactic seizuring torn cassette tape ribbons

    Baldy Babe Ruth swings and misses and the laurels fall from behind his ears

    Chimpanzee apostles dump his glowing death from the Hoover Dam

    You don’t understand, I want the uranium deposit slips

    In your infection behind locked doors

    There, in a rocking chair

    That’s what you really want

    The identity, the stockbroker’s head skimming Polaroid obsolescence

    But I want the stampede, the submarine

    Skydrops of sunshine revolution

    Air shards stuck like the snow queen’s three minute mirror

    From concentrate and you will see them in military formation

    Parting the crocodiles, hairy feet walking on purified water as they prepare to drop him over

    Blackjacking handsmacks of the castrators

    Hear my highpitched neep!

    With shackled hands raised in classrooms deprived of oxygen

    This should be the way we always were

    Best friends holding hands and pinching their noses before the volcano

    Hunger blindingly heavy

    I’m coming back around ducked down in a burned out Chevy

    Trying to drink all the sand from my Victorian hourglass

    Figure of my breathless lust engine, swing and a miss oooo

    This is the artery clogged with folkloric PLEASE

    Stuffed with hotdogs and leeches

    Sell me all the hyperventilated tuberculi in the closet

    And I may obliteratorily tell you why I tossed the dirtclod past swaying wheatstalk skyscrapers

    That would circle like eagles if they could shake the gasoline fleas from their shaved grey backs

    I went curveballing wrong

    When I looked up into the edge of the Baron’s long grinning nighthedges and stole the shine of his clippers

    So be forewarned: I have armed myself in the nakedness of dictators

    And will claim the swimming pools of your youth

    Long after the mosquitoes have paved me beneath

    Mouthed in yellow lolling sleep

    What part of my silver skies theoretical Europe do their shovels not comprehend?

    We are in new worlds now, old parties all crashed out

    If you toss me skittering down the King Kong wishing well

    I will sit there weeping for a nostalgic meanness I never had

    Except for that brief spacely moment when I sailed over the parking lot

    As a bruised and sunk fruit of lost American past times

    Spun like scorpion semen in the gears of some grandfather clock whose heart ticks to a noise his lungs cannot scrap

    So this is my snarly heap

    If you’re going to chop down a tree that Einstein pool-cue

    Then swing hard into the next century

    Or say nothing when the cannonball tugs my tears into the Pharaohs’ California sick-bed

    It’s time to funeralize the 20th century

    Finish the game, go back into green dusk

    And ahh my double edged grin growls among the microwaves

    We can dig unreal into the tundra

    Disappear cold and lovely into Eris’s waiting arms

    They are coming down from the hills in black hoods waving coupons

    The new imaginings just laugh with cool good water cupped in their hands as they sip to the half moon

    Somewhere between mutual eclipses I hum wondrous at the itch of my fractured baseball bat
    if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do

  11. #361
    Caution: eye irritant Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon has much to be proud of Jon's Avatar

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    "Hallowed be his sneer!"
    “Give me the sense to wonder, to wonder if I'm free."

  12. #362
    Traveler Roast is on a distinguished road Roast's Avatar

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    "A string of iron twists in our pocahontas-bellies"
    Flagg.All of your words...all of your words are beautiful. Real, purified emotion.
    Hypnotised.

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