Archive for August, 2012

August 26, 2012

End Scene: V.V.

Entities in an establishment longing for one another, undercover of foresight, she’ll be back in a fortnight.

Encased in white, encased by mother and brother.

 

Liquor and culture about; a jovial spread.

 

Eyes locked, avoided for the most part, pondering a predicament; this angel is heaven sent.

As not to draw attention, unwanted suspension of situation.

 

Something to mention.

Something to mention.

 

We wait…

 

Ducking down to create a sense of loss.

We did this before, a few hours back.

Hardly an instance of thought is put into the sleep that was lost.

 

The moments harden and crack to black.

Sat back and relaxed in the past.

 

Eyelids as rusted metal; oil maintenance is a necessity posthaste.

 

I am gone only but from the trivial times, coming out from the galley.

She has left-

 

Left me a souvenir, a created past; empty glasses on the table, plates removed by the able.

Staff wipes the evidence into a stained bleach-soaked towel.

Napkins rest crumpled with DNA of my lover, true fable.

 

Never before has there been such an intelligent and learned listener, empathy for we…

Empathy, you see.

 

Gone.

 

Rush out to the floor to observe what was before.

(Has this been the last sight I will see of her?)

 

Praying she hasn’t passed the doorway.

I explore.

 

Hands splayed at the side like a madman, but calculated.

I have two occupations presently.

 

Find her.

 

Straight ahead and to the right, she does the same but to the left.

She has not the latter.

 

Across the room, and we lock eyes again for the last time.

As she is looking for me.

 

Smile as long as the Nile.

True glee.

 

I raised an arm and opened my mouth as if to say, “Love!  Don’t forget, don’t go just yet.”

There is a lot to do, us two.

 

She ran back, as I, we met half way.

A hug, a kiss, and this I think of today.

 

She sits on a plane…

I watched her walk away.

 

 

August 23, 2012

Sleep Apnea

If you want to see me, come see me-

A lot of people do.

 

Wake up, breakfast; another day in tattered shoes, and food.

Another day to not be rude.

Another day to choose.

 

Choices challenge…

 

My mind rooted to traffic.

Oh, the sights are graphic.

-The detailed movement of people, places, and things.

 

Stop-light…

 

Finding relaxation on idea, dismissing all fear.

 

And life…

 

Life sits on a balance; feast or famine.

Embraced or abandoned.

Picked-up or stranded.

 

We get along…

 

Did you get the cash transfer?

Oh, it doesn’t matter.

Plastered, drunk again, searching for answers to pastures and grandeur; to meeting loved ones in the hereafter.

 

What a life…

 

Yet, I sit with this coffee and this debt.

Breathing easy, calming-exercise to get the weight off my chest.

Half-spent in thought.

 

She says I must have done something bad in my past to wake from my sleep like that.

I tell her nothing.

-Don’t worry.

 

She says, “Yeah, I know you.”

“So why do you sleep with me?”

“It feels safe.”

 

Pink pigment, like piglet.

I detest, not embarrassed, but I rest when she rests without regret.

Hiding stress under her dress.

 

This mess is structured…

 

My eyes take it in.  

 

We just met and she is bent-

While I keep it straight forward.

 

No time to wonder.

As she nears the border.

 

***

 

In a state of stating a statement…

 

I woke to yawn.

 

 

 

August 19, 2012

Victoria’s Secret

I told her I take no offense; I enjoy being sexually harassed.

 

Ephemeral, fleeting; we just met now she is leaving.

 

An eye passes and we catch whatever it is that is special.

We are opposite each other, in respects, but we know opposites attract.

We come for the checks and to get out of debt.

 

Later:  At the bar laughing, gasping, grasping broad smiles, and social empathy over those in view.

 

Tasting the beer.

 

A piano bar at night, lit up nice.

Glad we came.

Glad we challenged one another.

 

Eclipse:  Moving towards, and covering someone for a moment, and then it is over.  It may or may not happen again in this lifetime.  Lamenting lifeline.  The light shines.  You might find…

 

No wine was spilt.

The encounters you have with the people at work.

We catered to the needs of others, after that we sat, we drank, we judged.

 

After That:  Intellect and free language brought us closer.

We touched hands; hers were colder.

I felt like a child.

 

Cold hands cold heart, and she was the boss of interest for the moment.

 

Earlier:  Ice water, and a mission, customers were kept intrigued as I by the sight and banter.

 

Later:  A sigh, and then more laughter; we spoke of the grotesque, the art, and the thought, politics and evil ideas, of past, present, and lost.

 

Something stuck out, yet hours flew by.

 

Momentarily:  A silvery purplish tint around the lids came through as she lowered her hair.

In the shade color spoke shame of physical violence that didn’t exist.

The things we imagine.

 

Sleep lost in the throws of a substance more important: conversation.

Rapunzel would have been jealous, black locks, dark beauty.

Stunned that she knew me.

 

She discussed how she loved the exotic and how white girls were not erotic.

I agreed as I disagreed, taking in the blond in the distance.

 

She must have been reaching 40 and was literally perfect; breasts, fit and large, hung against gravity like Spartans, frame, hardly there, I wonder about her diet.

 

That can’t be normal, she had to be from Georgia my friend said.

You can make your body anything we explained.

Her friends are all from Georgia, the ones that were talking about accents.

 

The wolves at the bar took notice diligently, not letting go until she left.

 

A few Gin and Tonics for the gluten-free, I ate less bread and felt better this week.

3 Premiums, I could have had more, but drunk people never score.

This round is on me, break to flee, never leaving that moment.

 

Attentive waitress thanked us a million for giving her six and that’s it.

Off to light up the night in a basement, in a condo.

 

Later:  Sitting bedside we spoke of authors, times, modern art to effect, reflecting now I wonder how we got so personal in such rapid fashion.

 

At That Moment:

 

I got up and left.

I hadn’t slept in 3 days.

I remembered my mind was playing tricks on me.

I felt somber and lost.

 

***

 

Transit:  Biking home at 3 am, biking through nothing, is it Monday?  Is it Saturday, is it Sunday?  I have not a clue.  Work does funny things to a person.

 

I pedal home and meet a blond on the stairs of my complex.  As I pass her she says hey and starts following, to a run.  She almost beats me up the stairs.  Confused I offer her over.  She came in and sat down.  She unloaded her life story on me 3 times.  I sat and sipped my wine.  I was confused, but her dress was falling off and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen so I listened intently.  This was such a contrast from the conversation earlier.  She spoke of parties, of poor management, of domestic abuse and verbal assaults.  I sat longer.  Finally, after an hour I said I was tired, so I walked her to the door.  She walked out and walked back towards me.  Her dress and appearance looking more sexual and disheveled; as if the deed had been done.  Sauntering towards me in her red flower-covered silk dress, paunch stuck out, arms set back, legs semi-exposed, she arched up near the door.  She pulled me to her at the frame, my hands touched about her bosoms and backside, we hugged, hesitating no longer we kissed.  She said she’d be back as she touched my nose with her index finger and drug it down to my lips.  Mason jar of wine in hand she strolled out the door and up the stairs.

Goddamn this night is weird.

 

***

 

Earlier:  Intelligent conversation, if only my friends could meet she.

The people we know from where we exist create bliss if you let things be.

Art has a hold on her, and as she says I should move to New York the Piano Man strikes up a cord to the same tune.

 

Don’t beg me, as I smile. 

 

2 am:  The time at the bar was over, night had passed for so many, but we had been stuck in a time warp, and almost forgot from the pot.

 

Like how right before something good happens you feel at your worst.

Like we are evolving-some people are born without wisdom teeth.

Like not knowing if Santa is real is the epiphany of curiosity.

We found the presents.

The tacit agreement between parent and child; forever remained captivating and devious.

 

And we kept talking…

 

Black holes.

Dark Matter.

Hadron Collider.

Dali.

 

We sat, I wondered if it matters if she moved

Our expiration date was years away.

 

The difference between Satan and Santa is the placement of 2 letters.

I tell her without words I will never forget her.

August 16, 2012

Seasons Change/Lost Artists

We don’t get made we get mad.

We don’t get sad we forget.

We don’t get lonely we upload.

We don’t get even we just sit.

 

Preposterously angst-y flannel coated, fake hat over heady miss-matched brains, out of touch so much.

The 90′s called.

So much.

So much.

Just don’t touch me.

 

Driving us to pains- to pass out.

 

Pulling fingernail with tooth, fighting hand over fist.

Breaking it loose for blood to spit.

Something is amiss.

Eating good.

Shit.

 

Economically fucked, economically sound-Minneapolis;

-Entrepreneurs of the 2012 great depression; a making-it-happen obsession.

We bounce back, and they hire those who have not learned the lesson.

 

We talk a lot, but we don’t do much about it.

-We talk a lot, and we mean it.

 

Flying a sign on Franklin, or Lyndale, Or Downtown.

 

Figuring an accurate positive slogan…

Give me a moment…   Give me a moment…

 

A deal is a deal, I am fired if I am late.

I show up at 8.

I work the day.

I go home with a headache and nothing to show.

My rent does not go down like the girls I know.

 

Slumped in chair, pit of despair.

But I’m smilin’, not faking about it.

Not like the others.

 

We don’t have it so bad.

 

Where minimum wage gets you laid and keeps you out of the cold.

(It could just be the writing.)

Stockings hang to dry because the dryer costs a quarter more than budget.

 

Where minimum wage gets you tossed into the public.

We talk proper to out do the others in the lower class.

(They still ask for me at the bar.)

 

I come from fancy trailer in a valley in Houston County, to hanging out alone downtown in an alley.

To fashioned atop the flashiest bike you’ve ever seen in your life.

To rocking a knife-about to stab you with it.

 

I’ve met beggars, squatters,

Straights, and thieves.

 

But what I get out of all of this is the sleep I absolutely need.

 

And we all get:

Just precious boredom.

People just not trying.

Everything sounds the same.

 

Except for Lying.

Except for Lying.

 

Life is so much fun!

 

And most ask:

If I wasn’t surrounded by dumb people how would that make me look?

I guess the lack of entertainment around me makes me more interesting?

 

Praise to those interesting few.

Praise to those who try and remain on top of their game.

 

We have education, time, ambition, and creativity, but what we lack is heart.

I see it everyday Downtown.  I see it everyday walking around.

Lost Artists.

 

 

 

August 7, 2012

Grandma Knew Better

My life as a poet as I know it, is over for the moment.

 

You don’t bend things, they break.

You don’t date things, unless you want them to stay.

Otherwise you might have to say go away.

 

A spent condom fashioned precariously in a trash bin is becoming rancid.

It sits in the corner, HELLO!

 

I wonder what it would all look like in a mansion.

All these actions

-Reminds me of how I get around.

 

I wonder why they wonder how I do it?

Its very hard to explain, we have different brains.

We drive in different lanes.

Easy.

 

I ask them how they are poor, broken, and asking questions.

No one answers, they all walk away.

 

Little Me(s) evaporate and die as I sigh.

Only a sheet of highly efficient latex’s placement saves my existence on this pavement.

I think of the house and the large ivory pillars.

 

I stand slouched-thinking, moderately strung out from blinking.

Can they write like this(?) -right(,) like this:    <—–Here.

 

You don’t mind things that don’t matter, after it all, after the laughter.

Sadness plastered on faces, and then a clown walks in to throw them off.

Doesn’t it make you gladder?

 

Effectively the Sun reigns, so we bring sunscreen to protect from the sun-rays.

Eventually the Son reigns, so…

 

About the snow; we wear extra clothes to cover our noses from being frozen.

 

Ask the Floridian, he doesn’t have the slightest.

Of the former they may feel closer to closure.

Of the farmer on the border of cash crop or flip flop, off to the city.

 

Quickly-

 

Big fucking lights.

Big fucking deal.

 

Then its over.

 

 

 

Laughing to a spilt bladder, found a place.

Southside, well Whittier, I am not writing it on a slate, either way it translates.

 

Sick of the television bickering, and myself not picking through pages; my books are left with dog ears and wanting to play, getting through it in many different stages, on different days.

Not sick any more though, there is a remedy for me, for us, for all.

 

Like a grenade to my face, like a beer, like a bee, like a sting.

Not misplaced.

Mickey’s, got to love the taste, and its CHEAP!

 

Ready to fight?

Goodnight.

 

Sitting in the grass with the community.  Watching a movie and relating truly-

Out of smokes, living longer.

Out of beer, better mornings.

Out of food, I go to church on Monday nights.

 

Out of money, nothing to complain about.

 

They have too much and they worry too little.

(about the trivial)

Fretting on the couch, in a nice house.

 

In response to the poor they are whores of vanity.

In response to power they are a sad sight to see.

In response to friends they have none, no response.

In response to a gun, they surrender, later they run.

 

They take all but they have lost nothing.

Maybe even gained something in the process.

An understanding, a piece of mind.

 

 

We sit, we think, we drink, we think, water from the kitchen sink, we think, we contemplate again.

I don’t know, but it flows down the drain like thoughts in the brain, yet we can’t write it down…

Oh, whatever.

 

Not wearing a frown because I can’t think of a negative.

This isn’t math class, you dunce.

And in any case there really are only positives.

 

 

When we are on the brink and we head back.

Going backwards-Needed and not needed.

Taking it all in right after.

Forgotten later, the latter.

Everything that matters: everything.  

 

We want it to stay and it goes away.

We say go away and there is delay.

Do we ever get what we want?  And if we do is it what we want?

 

Good riddance.

What’s the difference?

We are all gifted, its what we live with.

Nothing around you is dead yet.

 

I am wrong…

 

About my Grandma:

 

I still see the sky lit up on the horizon at dusk.  I still think of her touch, and it still does matter.  She would say:  TERRY SCOTT!  I would chase after.  She would smoke and drink coffee and play cards.  She never brought anyone down, if I remember correct she was happy, always.  She was the best person in my life and she left in 2008.  All the same, she is here today.  She has white-blond hair, baby blue eyes (like me), and an infectious smile.  She is remembered, as the good things are.  We forget all of the things we malign and dislike for a banal existence.  They have placement in our lives, but they don’t mean all that much.  Things like this matter.

Everything happens for a reason, and its all the same in the rain.

No disdain, not insane, slightly like self we remain.

Yet mostly changed.

Dark clouds atop the hill make me smile.  Strong winds bring back memories as they touch me with slight pressure and fly away.  I imagine her soul does the same.

I will always be in the country and feel her presence.  Like the city hides that, it brings her back even more.

Where is Chicago?

Even when I am alone I am not alone.

There is no saddest when we think of the ones we once had, and always will have.  Who come back in small instances of everyday life, in astonishment.  We recollect.

 

She was never down, coffee and cigarettes remind me of her.

She was the best card player I ever knew.

She loved snoopy and bingo and her family.

 

And I was this close to playing one last card game with her…

Then the phone call.

I ate mediocre potato salad for a week in the cold of my apartment, which had no heat.

 

She always beat me in war.

And it was snowing in early October.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 639 other followers