Tag: spoken word

The Only Difference Between The Top And The Bottom Is The View (aka Bukowski Had It Right)

Oh, I have risen high and been driven low. Seen men laugh the hell of winter in warehouse factories, smoke circles huddled to keep warm in the frost of poverty and nicotine snow. Stale gas station bread and piss poor coffee for piss poor…

Endings Remind You Of Beginnings Because They Are The Same Damn Thing (aka When God Closes A Window, He Barricades The Door)

My favorite color is orange and I look terrible in it. I like the brightly colored type ones, so when I walk in public I get mistaken for a convict or traffic cone. They laugh, with or at me, which to be honest is the…

I Told A Witch Doctor I Was In Love With You. And Then The Witch Doctor, He Told Me What To Do, He Said {get over it}

Tonight I’ve got an appetite for applying love songs to someone it doesn’t belong. I’m only Marlboro Red-ing when I’m heavy into missing you at 2 in the morning. People are disposable, and I overlook them like songs I used to love and skip…

Jeja

Bed covers don’t cover much besides cold toes and a window sill. No heat or warmth in this dire night and bed pillows wrinkled like my grandmother’s hands when she showed me how to play Casino before she died that September. Sixth, a Thursday….

My Body Is A Temple (from the waist down) aka I Liked You Wayyyy More When You Didn’t Like Me

A kiss couldn’t contain me, I can’t be made still when my world is always rotating. Spinning on a spindle far as the bar can see, high as the stars orbiting Neptune on a lunar eclipse. Can’t call tonight quits so I’m proof-reading draft…

How Do You Throw Grenades? (Monday Redux)

Such bold and violent little mortars. Silent killers on a timer that explode like an idea. Bang and death and shrapnel compacted to a pocket; hand held hazards, lightning in a bottle. Portable paralyzers stun and blinding on delivery. How do you throw grenades?…

Sigh. Lent.

Today is not a day for words: they evaporated when the sun rose, violet pink and red, this rose sun, melting the day before. They’ve lost all meaning, these words, these words I loved the day before, beating page thumping at my fingertips, pulsing…