Saturday, October 22, 2011



I doubt you wanted to me to write
About her, a righter in my past.
A path stuck in the dark,
Desires, sin within my heart.
Muse is there
I didn’t know her
But she decided to show her
Glowing face to me
She runs through my mind and down
With the ink, through fibers
Whispers in my ear
You’d think I want to date her

But I don’t think it’ll ever be that way
She’ll show me the way.
But I know she can’t come
She’s got her own bridges to burn
But I wish I could hold the match with her.

Soup of the day

I fear we’re living in tomorrow hurting nostalgia.
I see a correlation ;
The lack of salvation of our mortal muse souls,
stuck to a spinning wheel of lust
upon which I throw paint with flattering words

and they spit in my face …

because the truth won’t give me good looks,
and an ugly humor, or laughter never made anyone horny.

Because when scrap booking ceases to be a hobby but a hindrance
all the song birds with a swollen tongue
and falling feathers will be stuffed on my shelves,
next to my greasy, black trophies.
An undying homage to the bearskin rug life I live.
My words sound like a flowery boys’ choir, with a fist full of ash

And eyes full of a naiveté flood.

Well wouldja just have a look-see at this? TWO poems?
Someone's been good this year.
But no, in all honesty I just wanted to post two because they both fit situations/feelings sort of that i'm in right now. Oddly enough I wrote them both a while/not recently ago, funny and poetry works that, the universality of it, just like music as well.
Speaking of which I'm currently to the Fleet Foxes album Helplessness Blues which is a top notch album by the way, and here's a little taste of it.

Fleet Foxes
"The Plains/ Bitter Dancer"
from Helplessness Blues

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