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Literature Text
prison was a wall made of staplers
and post-it notes
all the reminders plugged into a digital clock
a heart made of Styrofoam
and paper cups
brew the coffee, but leave a residue
the distaste of second-best
is overdue
prison was a world, with sharpened scissors
the buttons pressed, the font grew bigger
enlargement, engrossment
budgeting time to sip at sand
silicon beneath the skin, and rubber noses
and rubberbands.
bake the gingerbread men
see them run as fast as they can
on treadmills inside the bellys
of corporate America
prison was a world, made of memos and email
the endless stream of information
overflowing till the networks crashed
planes were made of paper
and lovers were only ash
and love is a product of manipulation
the gene therapy of the gene pool is
dangerous at best
in the prison of obscure sentiments
an island is not isolation
a whirlwind circus of the obvious
when faith becomes zealous wrath
and anger management the main course
prison was a world of raising children
to harvest till they are dead
the crop will be their bodies
and the locusts descend instead
prison was a world where everything was structured
night and day
I broke free of all these prisons
to find more chains tangled me
and post-it notes
all the reminders plugged into a digital clock
a heart made of Styrofoam
and paper cups
brew the coffee, but leave a residue
the distaste of second-best
is overdue
prison was a world, with sharpened scissors
the buttons pressed, the font grew bigger
enlargement, engrossment
budgeting time to sip at sand
silicon beneath the skin, and rubber noses
and rubberbands.
bake the gingerbread men
see them run as fast as they can
on treadmills inside the bellys
of corporate America
prison was a world, made of memos and email
the endless stream of information
overflowing till the networks crashed
planes were made of paper
and lovers were only ash
and love is a product of manipulation
the gene therapy of the gene pool is
dangerous at best
in the prison of obscure sentiments
an island is not isolation
a whirlwind circus of the obvious
when faith becomes zealous wrath
and anger management the main course
prison was a world of raising children
to harvest till they are dead
the crop will be their bodies
and the locusts descend instead
prison was a world where everything was structured
night and day
I broke free of all these prisons
to find more chains tangled me
Literature
March, 2004
Soon enough, it got hard for me
to ignore the pebbles of broken
glass buried in the seats
of her attempted-suicide car, or
the night you cut open your legs
only to find them filled
to the brim with nothing
but cold blood and fresh ice.
I could smile but I was stuck in your war-
time car crash, fighting to breathe
over the exhaust, the sky dark and thick
with the unspoken, and she, your mother,
was confined to forced peace,
rounded corners, no butter knives
or shoelaces, hidden scars, white light and white, white walls.
Literature
Our Issues
Your heart grew up in a black wooden box
and thought it fabulous,
its world of
right angles,
wood grain,
and eternal night.
It hated me when I bored the hole
that let the sun singe its eyes, cook its skin,
when rain collected the dirt on its skin
in a puddle beneath its feet and said:
"look how dirty you are, foul thing."
It hated and
hated and
still hates,
always crawling
under any
box it finds.
I kicked it
out of its hiding place.
It ran out howling, hating and being
ha
Literature
Counting for Nothing
Fourteen hundred paces wasted
walking to your door,
and every time a pointless pounding
headache - sore, resounding, raw;
what follows next? as you'd expect
a shocking exhibition of
that bloody mix of tears
and spit and semen spilled
across this gritty floor.
and from the day that we last spoke
I've counted twenty-four.
How come I'm your ignored -
you must have grown so bored of me
and now my fingers, gnawed and nails all bitten
paw through scores
of letters better left unwritten -
never sent, now torn and scattered, littered
with my bitter thoughts unuttered,
so utterly distraught I am, I poured a litany of scorn
and lo
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Comments11
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I'm in another poetry reading mood and I feel like I should have gotten to this one sooner.^^ Lovely lovely and I fav.