RAGE – God! Sing the song of rage that he feltThe poet shoved into his first tragedy.RAGE- sing the glory of the story that caused the rage,The story of a young man, barely 22 and still almost 23Sing the song of RAGE that this requiem really is;That every requiem really is. Sing the story of… Continue reading 6/6/10 – “Rage”
Tag: poetry
151 W. Velma St.
Always somewhere at the periphery, Looking over the precipice, Keeping an eye on us, on someone. A towel, the scent of dove soap; Wooden walls and the plates with boats on them, The glasses of Coca-Cola – ice – comfort. Apples being picked up off the ground, Too sour to eat, only suitable… Continue reading 151 W. Velma St.
#17
Wash your hands and dry them off. Rip open the alcohol and sanitize the skin. Place the needle on the flesh, and POP. Dry off the first drop; it’s contaminated. Go down to the knuckle and press, apply pressure, milk it like an udder. Watch how the blood drips onto the paper. Go… Continue reading #17
#5 “The Guilty Party”
We were all in the Jungle, waiting our turns at fame, we sat and watched as one man after another jumped on the backs of the others fighting for a morsel of attention. I’m the guilty party here; I’m the voyeur who watched, who jerked off, who salivated at their horrendous behavior. I stood there… Continue reading #5 “The Guilty Party”
#4 “The Perfect Excuse”
I don’t have time to write what I want to write to say what I want to say to convey all the ideas I have. So, I concoct this: the perfect excuse.
#8
“There are things I wish I hadn’t said” should be my life’s motto. It should stand engraved under a crest, of a man, a duck, and an ass. “He never really learned anything at all” is what they will print when I’m dead. My obituary will be read by a few, who are older, dumber,… Continue reading #8
Poetry and not prose
Since COVID-19 I’ve had way too much time on my hands. I’ve had to transform my normal neurotic tendencies into something more productive. I became a very diligent writer of diaries, but after recording the minutia of your day, day after day, especially in a time in COVID when everything is the same, you begin… Continue reading Poetry and not prose