Category Archives: poetry

Long Walks on the Beach

I walk the beach looking for the perfect shells for you

every time I find one I think of the message that I will write in the sand for you

but instead instead I stop and swallow the shell

i am jingling like a wind chime in a hurricane

full of the unwritten things for you

the shells are breaking apart and carving messages on my insides

I can feel myself hemorrhaging with song and blood

I am the morning lark so let me sing to you my rising sun

my kindred spirit in the dark, cold morning

do you ever get tired of being worshiped for your beauty and warmth

do you hide yourself behind the clouds so no one can see your flaws

come down to me and take my hand

we could walk the world together

come down to me

my song is only born by the vital life-force of air in my tiny lungs

and I have used every breath to reach you

and I am suffocating

those broken shells affixed with love in the sand are being wiped away by the indifferent ocean

waterlogged red roses are tumbling impotently in the grey wash of waves

forgotten or abandoned by careless lovers with hands full of each other and mouths of sweet nothings

I am walking this gauntlet of the unrequited and I am running out of beach

the finish line is where there is a message written for me

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I want to be more than just comrades (OR: You’re the reason I hate communists)

my heart was gasoline

and I stood on kindling waiting to be set alight

all I needed was you to flick your rebel cigarette at me

and I was all ablaze

help me you whispered

lets start the Revolution

I would have burned down every strip mall

every mom and pop shop

hunted down every capitalist

for one of your smiles

you told me we could hobble the machine of the capitalists

with idleness and kisses

and poetry and drunkeness

and I was naive enough to believe you

and when we took to the streets

we were nameless comrades in the night

with teargas and chaos in our eyes

thunderstorms of glass shards

and trash cans on fire

We were going to war

with the capitalists

and going to battle the police

And you left me

I turned to look over my shoulder

and you left me at the barricade

with my heart in one hand

and a molotov cocktail in the other

both ready to ignite

You left me as

a burned out police cruiser

the broken windows of a Starbucks

the ashes of a discount furniture store

I wanted to be more than just comrades

you were my ride or die

I the bonnie to your clyde

we could have had a last stand in a glory of gunfire

under the star-crossed banner of the Lost Cause

My revolutionary zeal was martyred

my hopes faced the firing squad

my dreams the hangman

I was just another soldier in your war

you’re the reason I hate communists

Flirting with Death

I’ve always liked my lovers with million watt smiles

and the darkness of the void in their eyes

my hair is standing on end as

I feel his icy breath on my neck

and I am trembling from the caress of the ultimate Silence

Pressed against this abyss

is a heart pumping blood laced with desires

enough for a thousand lifetimes

I am the anti-Buddha caught up in the cycle of attachment and curiosity

my eternal recurrence is a child sticking the knife into the electric outlet

running with scissors without any more eyes to poke out

let me run with Amor Fati into the treacherous waves of destiny

I am the Lady of Shallot

grown weary of her mirrors and shadows

Join me as I throw my looking glass against the wall

and roll around in the shards of my grand spectacle

Here is my blood sacrifice

We’ve made an altar of ourselves

when we should have altered our perceptions

because if in this calvacade of distraction

and electrified Pantheon of selfies and the instafamous

we become numb to our own humanity and sense of wonder

we should sprout wings and become migratory

so we can find the Great Beauty chasing flamingoes

because I remember that icy breath on the back of my neck

that Silence will take our voices when we decide to be polite rather than honest

but it is not enough to see beauty I also want to destroy it

I want to lap up the destruction and ugliness of life

I no longer wish to be an artist

I want to be a piece of paper

Tattoo me with your sketchbook fantasies

and crumple me up when I’m boring or passe

I want to be the wayward knee through the million dollar Picasso

the balled fist through the Monet

I want to ring the neck of every damn flamingo in the world

it’s all a trick, an illusion

so let me reveal the illusionist’s secret

my darlings, we are on a wild flamingo chase

we are told beauty only exists in a particular three dimensional form,

a two dimensional screen, or a one dimensional lifestyle

when there is a spectrum of dancing light and color and musical vibrations

in and through us and everything that surrounds us

that we exist is magic

we are the multiverse experiencing itself through love and heartache

we are the great clamor against the Silence

let us never end our grand cacophony

Gulf Oil spill (Nihilist Poem #2)

God is dead

dead and heavy

like the head that wears the crown

he’s brown

his speeches of love

are intellectual

but ineffectual

to an angry mob that sobs

and wishes to rob

the moderate public

of their one wish

to have some food on their dish

watching corporate fascists grow fat

whipping our backs

with taxpayer bucks

those stupid fucks

what divinely shown luck

to fail and duck the consequences

overbudgeted on hooker and blow expenses

but no offense meant, my friends

but sometimes this anger bubbles up

all pent up

when AIG messes up

and I’m personally invested

and I have so many questions

and no answers

I swear

Mr. CEO learned to light

a cigar from afar

with a hundred dollars

to see how much money he could burn

alright hold on

shareholder meeting in 3 2 1

Somethings rotten in the state of Denmark

my words be heard

stinks to high heaven

like a bird with no cage

looking for a saving grace

but there’s none to be said

my heart sinks like lead

heavy hangs this head

god is dead.

Be a Lady

Be a lady

sit up straight

don’t slouch, don’t pout

and be afraid

the nail that stands out

gets hammered down

you’re round, slim down

spend your life in constant strife

Struggle with your body

a nod to your fleeting effervesence

it makes no sense

to spend cents

to suspend the inevitable:

death and decay

why are we so afraid?

It’s happened since the dawn of time,

and yet form a line

for a new find

geared towards those fine lines

because I’m worth it

what bullshit

playing up ingrained fears

to sell product

speak your mind

you’re neurotic

its hypnotic

just calm down

don’t worry your pretty little head

even when its full of dread

because of the lies you were fed

since you were a little girl

but twirl and smile

act like you’re not in denial

glamour vogue and style

are bibles

just to survive in a world

that would rather see the fairer sex

thrive in a hive mind

with no power to flex

it’s perplexing!

it upsets me

enough to utter a word

from the gutter

but I better not swear like a sailor

because most people fail to

understand me

that what I hate most is not a man you see

but a society

that defines me

paints broadly

a fraud

that’s perpetuated by a stagnant scene

Obsolete

keep your labels for your GM Sheep

and be a lady!

Unmanifesto

Puzzle pieces

individuals formed with a larger picture in mind

colors flow between neighbors

There is no escape from culture

Only a journey between and into illusions

We are the Impressionists’ offspring

We are the Dadaists’ daughters

We are the Situstionists’ situation

We reject the bland popular culture

We reject the fountain of youth promised us by advertisers

We reject mass produced consumerism

We reject anti-intellectualism

We reject the illusion of individuality

We embrace the perpetual decay, make us zombies

We embrace perpetual growth as the ever blossoming spring

We embrace fleetingness, the present moment,

our interconnectedness to the universe, the stars, the moon, the earth, the ecosystem, animalkind, humankind

WE are forces of Nature

WE do not want to be merely human

WE are tornadoes destroying everything in our paths indiscriminately

WE are tidal waves inundating the banality of existence

WE are the stubborn plant growing in the concrete jungle

WE are the coyote wandering into your suburban gated community at night eating up your lapdog

I blame Giorgio Agamben

Art is secondary to experience

Art is secondary to life

Art is static and tries to convey meaning or meaninglessness

an experience is ever changing in one’s mind

Art is a touchstone

A thing that marks something steady in a chaotic world

When we see the same painting as a child and then as an adult

it is not the painting we are in awe of

but the change of ourselves and the static picture we encounter

Art is a painting, a poem, a novel, a film that is stuck in a moment or moments in time

and is not self aware or self concerned

It is a product of its creator and the environment of its creation

To look at a painting of a sunset at twilight is truly absurd

Art is illusion

Art is playing at reality but it cannot be reality

To be an artist in the society of the spectacle is to look into an infinity mirror and wonder which reflection is real.

To be an artist is to be absurd.

To be an artist is to want to capture or create a thing from a multitude of things like Frankenstein

To be an artist is to question, to obsess, to withdraw from society

To be an artist is to aspire to be eyes

To be an artist is to regurgitate everything society and life has put in you so society and life can comment on itself

To be an artist is to die impoverished and alone

and after a hundred years successful and loved by all.

Spectacle and Contrary Desires

Unspoken mutual affection

Masquerading behind formalities

Societal roles to separate

Appearances, appearances

There is a line of propriety

We must not cross

I can only impotently yearn

And let fantasies fill my mind

That perhaps you long for me too

But maybe this whole romance

That makes a nest in my mind

Sheltered from the wintery reality

That you are merely saying hello

In a manner that courtesy dictates

And that I have made an Opera

From a word and a smile.