4:45 am

4:45 am

birds chirping
in the dawn dark night
sound snapping at my skull
keyboard tapping out this poem
and i have yet to sleep

The return of analysis

Ah! It's been awhile (both since I posted analysis and since I posted anything). I've decided that since g r a p e z now links to me, I'm going to sample the other blogs on his blogroll. Maybe more people will support me if I support them. To start with I'm going to click on blogs that have cool titles. Freak Machine Press didn't have any recent poetry posts. However, as I scrolled down the page I discovered a gold mine of great stuff. "Poem" has a weak title. I guess I prefer "Untitled" to the generality of "Poem." But then again, thinking about it, I take that statement back. It's about writing and the creation/destruction of poetry, so I guess that title does work (even if it wasn't intended to). Overall, I love this poem. I love the images and the content. As I reread the "Poem" I'm disappointed in myself that I ever disliked the title. It's perfect! This poem is excellent. Ummm...go read it.

Benny's seventeenth birthday

Benny's seventeenth birthday

(goofy, Sealab loving brother)
you're taller than me
but you'll never be older
mysteries of your voice cracking
over telephone wires
aging while my ears aren't there to hear it
yet here I am
calling you
on another birthday

late night (making a playlist)

late night (making a playlist)

nothing better to do
i sit
computer on my lap
and make music into
my music

succumbing

succumbing

i hate you
that Blink-182 song
on repeat in my brain
"it's mother's day
i'll be..."
hating the redolent puss of my moral stance
oozing out of me
like the vomit a drunk
can't hold behind her clasped fingers
diseased
the state of my world forever
chemically altered
never mind the moments of pleasure
tricky slippery things
slide past
and i am abandoned

the pain of a wound that won't heal

the pain of a wound that won’t heal
hand stinging of torn flesh
holding back the dry tears
brief pleasure moment
in the misty springblue night
and i love you again
there is no respect
in this mocklove
but there’s understanding
acceptance
of my place in this world
my inescapable hatred
of my inability to hate you forever

napping

(damn! This needs a photo, but I don't have one yet. Look back later and this poem might be better.)

napping

the world silent
out of focus
tears streaming
unremembered dreams
too beautiful to be held

anxieties gone in
an impassioned moment
of indifferent sleep

rusty nail blues

rusty nail blues

gather fragments of memories and hersay
pack them into a tiny box
and shake them
to see what has become
of your life

i'd rather complain

i'd rather complain about my life than finish the laundry

busy
stressful
and still unshowered

yearning for greenfields
or starfillednight skies
where the universe converges
in one instant
just for me

staring skyward

staring skyward

i can't reach where you are
lofty sky heights

me on solid ground
without farsighted knowledge
but intact communion

why didn't i turn around after i said goodbye?

why didn't i turn around after i said goodbye?

ancient history
and you
next to the limestone
bricks of a building

learning the hard way

(This also came from The Cincinnati Art Museum.)



learning the hard way

purple shades of blue
hint at frosty recesses
scaling sharp red--
determined dirt holds fast
only to rub onto holiday jeans

grownup play
on rocks too sharp for children

Still Life with Glass and Lemon

(I didn't paint this. It's Picasso. I saw it during spring break at the Cincinnati Art Museum.)




Still Life with Glass and Lemon

each shape
a little sour
each shard
sharp and sad
sends me in a new direction
a little fragment of analysis
neverending depths of shadow