A Play of words, poetry in motion
Once young man we drove on roads of oil. We had so much oil we made grocery bags out of it, grocery bags! Once young man we drove 5000 pound cars to buy a 12 ounce loaf of bread. Once young man we drank 12 teaspoons of sugar in our drinks we were fat and … Read more…
Softness The softness of silence and the sound of the refrigerator soft tones end the day send us to twilight soft sounds like crickets cars in the night the rain like feet in the sheets soft like the wind in the trees a baby’s breath softness as she turns in the night Caramel with vanilla … Read more…
The empty universe improbability theorem Could there be an empty universe? Is an empty universe even possible? Would probability show the impossibility of an empty universe? There is no possibility of a machine which could pull a perfect vaccuum. The physics of perfection do not exist. Here are the laws of thermodynamics: If the energy and … Read more…
Poems just start knowing only that it is started I must now find some seed some grain some focus some hold on things, like a cane holding me up on the petal of a flower I must find this earth on which to stand and say and say that the bee knows what to say … Read more…
Dirt is Life and death Sometimes we are not good did I say sometimes we are not good we are still amoebas feeding ourselves in droves the people in the other cars are real and have granfathers and thoughts just like you The people in the other cars are amoebas just like you feeding their … Read more…
Thy Just Start Poem So start something, anything. Start a worm farm, a doggy day care, a poem. It may not work out, it may stall in the middle, it may be worth nothing, it may fail, but if it’s not started, it has already failed. There may be no great meaning in this poem. … Read more…
No Whores in Doorways Poem I have no whores no cigarrette butts no subway graffitti no gutsy New York or Chicago poem no Buk no pound of flesh no whores in doorways no nights spent scratching my stubble while streets are lined with derelict lives. no dirty plates just the quiet of solitude the purpose … Read more…
In a silent room sitting in a chair being read to by no boy and too much rain, I was at those hot gates I saw the cutlass we don’t get out until we’ve broken all the commandments and have denied God and talked to Him (He’s on the right side about … Read more…
It’s me, weaving on a loom. Uneasy man in an easy room. I am a concord grape and an apple in a bowl. I hear whispers of love. Take the love. Take the love and remember her hands her small fingers “Do you juice?” “Oh yes I juice.” Oh You will go there again hoping … Read more…
Hiding in another poem I come here where no one will hear me and Scream into this box and then I dry my clothes and wait for the buzzer then I whisper into this box please please please why me why trees why flowers in her hair Why Tiananmen Square I will not go there … Read more…