2wenty 7eventeen

Bring in the new year with its brutal, sheer fear,
wring out the old year, beat what’s brought us here.
Bury our weary as we parade our cheer,
“Move along, folks, nothin’ to see here.”

Twenty Seventeen doesn’t mean our hands are clean,
in between the lanes and lines, swerving, we careen
into a class divide as colors collide, tweeted and streamed.
Televised destiny, technology unexpectedly
deciding what things mean. Meme.

Ring in the new year! All is wonderful far and near!
We have most of our limbs and beauty we find dear.
Whether we’re alone in a town or among those in your home,
new years appear to be clear only when we shut our mouths to hear.

Poems.

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Toast the Coast with the Most

windows to windows to light in the day
now when the wind blows I know what to say
hair falls, eyes sprawl, they shine so far away
while minutes brawl for more time in the day.

crimes commit while reason’s denied
uncertain decisions are reasons we hide
our faith is tested and always contested
by us crashing in the wreckage and the filth of our tide.

Wordy Birdy

The beauty of relationships is that without them we’re just beasts, foraging for some lost purpose, aimless and alone. We must always be reaching out, pulling close, drifting away, or never letting go, the time we share with those who fuel us is invaluable. Every man, woman and child I’ve ever known, loved or loathed has shaped me into the mad, passionate, strange creature I am today. Methinks my thanks is owed to all those whose paths I’ve soiled, graced, endured, or have been enlightened by.

Still. Distilled and ill, waking abrupt like a plane into a hill.

Still. Searching for answers in a poem, picture or pill,

no solace in the silence of this day as it fills

this one wild moment where it’s love or be killed.

Untitled. Unrequited. Unbridled. Undecided.

The breath she steals and the glances she shoots quickly sweep across the room like random death and feels like a slap on bare skin or the fierce blow of a blast furnace.

Asks me to take her, own her, smother, pull her hair like a mad, torn lover, from behind she pushes against me and she juts out, lithe and sultry, and I struggle to keep my hands off her. Pin her down and push the moan from her lungs and I’m fighting every impulse not to tear into every inch of her writhing body. Like a sleek reptile dipped in a reckless river, she is the purest animal reacting to a ravaging, primitive human action.

My mouth cannot stop trying to swallow her lips, I’m doomed to be indentured by her eyes, power and slithering hips.

Aggression gives way to concession as it becomes key to salvation from her keen insight, her sharp, poignant answers and observations that leave most in the dust. Her age is a number distant and arbitrary and despite being unable to ignore the arithmetic, I relax knowing that math has never been my best subject.

Repost. Regrowth. Repose.

One of The Nine Daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus

Texting is vexing and I’m tasting her hex
thrown in my mouth like how violence becomes sex.
Wrestling with decisions, to devour or protect?
As I try to shake her words and the intent they reflect.

Stalker, stalk her, swinging in a tree
Kay eye ell ell eye enn ME.
Connections in directions we don’t always see
in the face of temptation we fight, fuck and flee.

Her walk is a sway like how trees bow and bend
delivering that look as she sharply intends
to mock the way animals attempt to be men
and her age betrays youth as it always has been.

Hedonist heeding this, clamoring for vision
feeding this, needing this, a delicate incision
opening the skin and bleeding sweet suspicion
as the walls tighten down ’round this secret prison.

Bad Poetry For Even Badder Women

Her words drop like a guillotine blade, sharp and sudden, surprising and succinct.

Her eyes shine like wet jewels, big and glistening, listening and aware.

Her legs deliver her independence and distribute her power with reason and destination.

Her particulars are carefully doled out with precision, a silent smile in place of a sentence.

Her business is strictly monkey and I’m dangling in this tree like a waiting banana.