Posts tagged ‘narrative’

April 8, 2018

we all know nothing except for that

dusted shades cut the coming light like warm butter,
at the inside hard wooden floor
shadows of imagined exotic and warm,
where rental plants went fastly and
turned terminal in our Saturday’s hue,
in the camera slant, above the golden lamp…
did that rhyme enough for you?
i think i am worried about space debris.
i feel it again, undiscern…
and question everything as everything should be, like:
where are the lunar rovers on earth’s cameras, now?
where are the gods in tragedies, how could they allow?
where are the other sides being told under microscopes amid ads?
deep reflection then a Snapchat to friends
and family who i wish were closer in outer space
and inside with me because of the cold
outside, that is here in April…
what do we call it again… what do we say today… ?
i think they changed it from global warming
to climate change yesterday in below average temps, to
work with our subjective weather model,
so the Narrative can stay the same when it bleeps on the network.
by the negative assertions and constant commercials…
that is why i love modern literary criticism
and the scientific method.
i know nothing, as we all do and i know that.
but you might need this pill to smile.
perhaps something is wrong with you and you can’t tell yet.

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April 4, 2018

shells of us

judging a book’s cover, imagine my face imaging.
infinite sides to a story, to a story’s story, but i know.
my flesh tells a tale, probably, as yours does too.
drawn in the blood of i forget them, never met, who cares i guess.
Passover at Easter, some pink ham in me again, belching.
nothing like anything. nothing like i just exist.
broken short nails, overgrown cuticles and shining bald spots.
adult acne keeps me younger than you might think i am.
alphabet soup of words keeps me sane.
reflections of thin air, in thin air scares, wisps.
clowns were in that movie of course, dark rooms, found footage.
still, i see apostles for anything relevant: novel sorts.
new, spring, green, now, on top of the every-thing, any-thing that is
trending hashtag section of their Twitter feeds.
until tomorrow’s Godzilla prowls painting a new-thing to hate,
until the next big no-thing, the next day.
then you do what they say, like clockwork spinning good, wait.
and you want to be different, unique.
then you tell them how much you can relate.
i guess they covered this on the cover. forget this poem.

January 6, 2018

Famous poet

You can write poems for a million years and go unnoticed for having no group of publishers’ friends to push you, no narrative the same as allowed and believed.  You got to be like an ad and sell. The greatest story ever told on rabbit ears.  Prefer free.  But you can make biscuits and soup from nothing like words pulled from the mind, parleed to draw blind contours of shadows shaped and hue and season and time and light at a frozen window. Clocks never die. Hands stiky from grapefruit, something you hate to peal. But good, anyway. And we are a million-years-old forgotten before we are remembered growing trees in our stomachs to produce because we don’t piece their puzzle properly. No names or pictures or whatever they have. 

December 27, 2017

This old year soon over and again cold, remember

Cold so much so,
Winter solstice largesse.
Friends of the warmth.
We used to bike for travel.
Transfered the honor.
Now we wrap windows in plastic,
Now we pay medical bills.
Now we think, shit i feel bad
For those who feel bad, shit. Me?
Your credit card and god can fix that.
It’s cold outside again.
Probably protest winter’s oppression,
I think it will work: look at…
Frosted windows, we winnow.
Crystal mushroom threshold doors.
Some global warming vortex theory.
I think it gets cold on its own.
But it’s cold so much so, i know.
Next time I’ll remember better.