Sad Poems

Shades of Utopia

2012-02-15T00:25:00.003-05:00

the spy on its back listens. as the mountain sighs. the plaid of her frown not as obvious to them as she expected. tentative needles test the heroin. Caress the vein. too patient with gravity. Impact tells the stories she never has.

Checkerboards of skin. Poor players strutting. Fretting. The Shakespeare in their game. Falling. Clumsy poets obese with more words than wisdom. Stabbing. With plastic weapons. At clay monsters. And the dwindling futures. that plague this flesh.

The ladder bends. Fatigued and obedient. Nervous fairy tales alter the costumes to fit them. the snake. Confident with its temptation. Let's the apple fall.

the child bends down. to taste it. and is devoured.

The End of the World

2012-02-13T00:51:00.004-05:00

long stories. told by strangers. the shy plaint of skin. the egregious errands of bone and breast. bargain with fickle utopias.

the world ends in tiny kisses.

and begins the same.

tracing the tongues of madmen. trembling vessels. similar to woman. the crease of proportion deep. the lurch of condition ambivalent. puppets. theater. stages bursting with the dialogue of when. the light was dim. but she could still see. like a dull needle dancing against the end of its thread.

the calm of the witch. comforts. the fever of the ogre shakes. the straw from weak houses. her lips like thunder. echo the lightning. of virulent storms.

the punch of time. impotent. smothers her in tiny kisses. like the world is ending.

it is.

Permanent Ghosts

2012-02-12T23:52:00.005-05:00

tunnels and bedsheets. precariously predicting flesh. the traffic in her skull. congested and urgent. travelling such great distances to take her nowhere.

the rush of stimulant. weak, yet so much stronger than I. the flood of opiates. the sigh of lazy gods. eager to abort.

she draws the lion much the same as it would tell her. if it could. write by the sharpness of those fangs. if the meat were rhythm. and the blood were song. a symphony of predators hunting for the sanctuary of hunger.

the heavy bricks. a momentary dance. the moist mortar of touch. a cacophony of purpose. where the roads all converge. humming halos on the backs of demons.

just the one stumble. the prick of how. the sweet satisfaction fo suspicion. soured by choices.

Patterns

2012-02-10T01:18:00.003-05:00

wait for the trapdoor. the snicker of gravity. as it exposes. separates. gods and poets.

her monkey screeches. evolution a cruel satire on touch. she defers her protest to biology. slender stairs with their fists beating the carpet.

the dubious slopes of her skin. an infestation of choices. to be eradicated. the urgent curve of her breasts. a problem better left to be solved by science.

her fountain holds its breath. trying not to vomit. but their wishes are just too sickening.

the earth is easy to forget. shy lever in a catapult of confessions. humble axe to the fallen tree.

her heavy dress wears her. in loose buttons and nervous equations. the humility of decision. like sober promises.

Puppet Shows

2012-02-06T01:21:00.003-05:00

treasure. a monopoly of condition. presses gravity. for compromise. her alien awakes. swollen bridges. too confident in the suicides of lonely men.

eager witches. leave their cauldrons to be found. the stab of the moment. reluctant, but deep.

the oboe wheezes. a tentative bridge. between when and if. now and then. the drug excavates. hungrily mapping her innards. engaging each mountain and revelling in every crevice. she trusts it will keep taking until there is nothing left.

she revels in the panic of bitten fingernails and unprotected sex. a curious kitten eager to be suffocated.

her thin dress teases the sun. a temptation of unknown depths. the simplicity of childhood wagers what little coin she has. it's only a game she reasons. dirty windows in empty houses. and keys left in the lock.

Practical Hysterias

2012-02-06T00:17:00.004-05:00

you can try. telling the stories in dull crayons. pretending there is paper. that something will last.

the rudiments of touch. confessed in a shiver of contrition. the coax of surrender lost in the thump beneath her ribs.

you can sleep. zombie in its mayhem. oblivious. saturated with death. digging at the creases in crumbling walls. until all your fingernails have fallen off. yet your prison still intact.

it's a bad day to be a monkey she whispered. evolution is coming for you. you're caught on the tentacles of a fairy tale. trying to drown yourself in a puddle of choices. all of them much too shallow.

you're alone in a panic of skin. it's all too small. it's all too big.

it's a sad day to be an addict. she confessed. all these pretty dresses to try on. but none of them fit.

Waiting for Apocalypse

2012-02-03T01:27:00.005-05:00

the world arrives in portions. carved meat and loose skin. the nervous thumbs of ghosts. thumbing through the bibles of our flesh. she wakes him. because he her to. if the ratios changed.

quiet monsters. loyal to their purgatories. devils in their fuzzy robes sort their valentines. it's not enough to love the disease. you have to want it.

she wears the moments. in subtle poisons. the beautiful surrender. pale mirrors. fervent ghosts. and strays. like thread. woven. cautiously throughout. molted skins.

life is metamorphosis. change is constant. the hour surges. gentle brimstone. for soft devils. to discover the sharp of their horns.

the trial. the conundrum. of humanity. lies to her. as it always has. stiffens her brow. steep bridges. across shallow rivers. pressing deep. to draws the lips. on empty mouths.

earnest angels tugging on the heels of disobedient heavens.

Regarding Numbers

2012-02-03T00:32:00.003-05:00

broken suitors. arrogant monkeys. polish their dice. dalliant victims of the surging throng. evidence. purchases the eyes. in patterns. in needles. in the torn capes of heroes. and the smudged makeup of villains.

the night worships. a scripture of skin. a thunder of surrender. by which to to name their gods. ugly doors. content in the empty of the faces. that watch them. forgetting.

years like rope. scratch the necks. of dead dolls. still on trial. for the crimes of their thumbs. time chews. dull fangs still dig for the blood. life is always as close as it is far. loud stop signs and quiet landmarks. in a race around a colorless world. Boxes and equations. Carve out their art. From small stones in the dirt that surrounds.

The series follows her as she chases. The quake of numbers that erupts from flesh. The panic of tomorrow that swallows her past.

precious hours fight the slip gravity. as she teases the edge.

Measuring the Vacuum

2012-02-01T00:11:00.004-05:00

yellow. lost eyes and stolen limbs. forward. dead hours. wingless vultures. picking at the carrion. burnt lollipops. to choke on.

red. born again. helpless and needing. into a soup of foul flesh. and desperate confession. plastic lips stoke the fever that boils below at the back of her throat.

limp dolls do their dance. without a song. their stage broad. their curtain drawn. and no one listening.

her thighs cinnamon. her tears coriander. biology defeats her. and she is just a woman. scanning the darkness for the words to explain. what is missing.

the flame is patient. the flesh is not. quaint bridges left open. to let the tall ships pass through. how small we are the only lesson. that crowd of gods and demons has blessed us with.

the steep of skin. brews hot. a hemorrhage of lullabies. bleeds the process. like broken fingers. reaching for bigger sticks. the lie overwhelms her. and she confesses. that nothing has changed. she's as weak as she's ever been..

Uncertainty Principle

2012-01-30T00:17:00.006-05:00

clay roads find her. absent excuses. the cold like fingers. touches gently at first. quuckly grabs hold. the hours forget us. mud on their shoes. vague footprints in the journey of the wind.

liars. these scars that pretend to know. the difference. that there is one. between victim and villain.

she has her puppets. made of smoke rather than felt. she has her stages. all dark. alive only with the echoes. of deafeated gods and hopeless devils.

time stubbornn. raging ambient pulse. thundering in the deaf ears of the defeated and the hopeless.

her tits are crayon nubs. bleeding color into the outlines of strangers. there are no pictures. nothing real. only hours. arrogant like hares. humbled by the tortoise.

alone in their race. lost. in their small definition of winning.

there are no truths. except those which came before. the gravity of this trench. the distance. that spoils flesh to solve itself. a series of numbers. stiff with the attraction. between. ledge and impact. a conversation far too brief.

the stilts of science betray her. heaven is not near enough at all. the stars conspire to their surrender. long dead before she can see. demons are so much more forgiving than angels are.

choices like needles. bursting with salvation. a wealth of numbness. gods in every corner. devils in each doorway. the paradox of flesh. counting pieces of glass with fingers made of stone.

Dominoes Stumbling

2012-01-28T00:46:00.003-05:00

Touch is a treason. In a war of the absurd. Her eyes like wounded soldiers. Her smile like grenades. We wear each other in sparse threads of skin. Toiling to undo the knots that keep us together.

her lips are summer. her face is winter. the seasons change us. but on them we have little effect.

i draw my boxes. the stale geometry of if. stumbles. caught in life's moist cement.

he listens to her breathe. inspired by the prescient cadence of her sleeplessness. ledges like gods. loud and arrogant. lovers like zippers. coming undone. teeth biting everywhere. there is an opening.

her monsters are small. easily swept up in her fury. the flames from dragon's jaws. Tentative. As they wait for that burst of water. The strangle of contrition that proves the darkness.

she tastes him. in furtive licks. stolen from the fist of ogres. she feels him in the pull of years. as the world pretends to discover its villains.

she closes her eyes. confesses. that it's too far away.

she grabs the zipper. And pulls down hard. disappointed when. they can still see her.

all of her poisons too weak.

Poker Strategies

2012-01-27T17:47:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid we used to play poker. Me, my older brother and my grandmother. She was the one who had taught us to play poker. She had been to Reno and Vegas on several occasions. Grandmother had taught my brother and I to play poker (Five Card Stud), Blackjack (21), Solitaire and King's Corners. If you don't have a cool Grandmother to teach, like I do, you can still learn how to play poker at
.

When the three of us would play poker together we would play for pennies. Grandma would give us each a dollar's worth of copper Abe Lincoln heads and we were free to bet with it as we saw fit. As a child my entire poker strategy was predicated around the impossible to get royal flush. Hardly a hand ever went by where I wasn't hoping and trying and believing I could get that near impossible collection of cards in my hot little hands. Over time my grew more sophisticated. I learned by playing. It's the best way to learn. You can too. Free online poker makes it easy.

My brother usually wound up winning. Being older tends to do that for ya. He also happened to be quite adept at cultivating complex poker strategies. He was just a natural born player. Even so, every once in a while lady luck would shine upon his little sister and I would take the biggest winnings.

Those lazy Sunday afternoon poker tournament games with Grandma were fun and great family bonding. Warm childhood memories and brilliant learning experiences as well. Funny, I don't recall grandma ever winning. She always lost to us. Good ole Grandma. Always thinking of others.

Post Football Projects

2012-01-27T17:13:00.000-05:00

Guest post of the week by Val Flores

The Superbowl is less than two weeks away and the teams are decided. I could have told you back in September the Patriots would be in the big game but I wouldn’t have picked the Giants to go all the way. Although my wife is happy to have me available once again on Sundays, it’s hard to believe another season of NFL Sunday Ticket has already come and gone! Of course we have one more Sunday to go when we watch the Superbowl but after that it’s time to tackle the honey do list my wife has been making over the past few months. I’m sure there are quite a few small projects I can knock out in a couple of weekends but she has been pretty quiet on big projects. Although I’d like to think that means she doesn’t have one past experience leads e to believe otherwise. My guess is that she has something major she would like for me to do but she doesn’t want to hear me protest. I’m guessing the week after football is completely over supplies for the project will start showing up in the garage and once they are purchased I won’t be able to get out of it!

Sad Monster

2012-01-25T00:44:00.008-05:00

treble flames. point their dominoes. away from the sun. the pitch of gravity reveals. the parasite of confession. eager needles. punch the wind. their poison the only reason to keep climbing.

yellow like truth. sticky and sour with blame. blue like love. soft and foul. the porch door trembles. the glass in the windows shudders. laugh. let me fall. let me stumble and be of their ridicule. I am content to be laughed at by idiots and loved by madmen.

her stories tell her. child climbing ladders just shy of heaven. unaware that she's always been high enough.

skin like cataracts. adds to the blur. little piglets. brick houses. ripe to fall down. the words spill from her fingers. in a thunder of conditions. desert and cloud. like symphonies in her head. crack and multiply. until everything is red.

the nightmare befriends her. in small steps and fractures of bricks. the wolf breathes. in his quiet oppression. empowered with the sickness.

the creaking lantern. the faltering wind. the backdoor. the thin glass between lovers. That lets me see what they really want.

the sequence. the surrender. torn invitations. as her party goes on. without strangers. without friends. dense with the science of men. heavy with the friction of surrender.

as red as her choices. as blue as the voids they've left her with. her broken toys play with her. long after the bulbs are dead.

and the monsters we let live us. are all that they'll remember.

Broken Leashes

2012-01-22T01:11:00.004-05:00

prepare the wolf. soft swords. like fading memory. quiet floods. in the ripe of her arms. the beautiful girl. the ugly truth.

tell the story. in pink cheeks. and doubting arms. the whisper of right against the roar of wrong.

the shrug of the apple. more thread than needle. as it mends those holes.

let the monster inside. play the martyr. to wasted saviors. pressing the absolute. soft buttons. slender threads. work their way through the doll. in stiff smiles and frozen tears.

loud liars. befriend the battle. soft soldiers adjust the war. until everything is sober.

bad dogs. chewing on the bones we've left. stray gods dance on the strings of puppets.

Loose threads. for the monsters to pull on.

Theoretcial Communists

2012-01-22T00:05:00.002-05:00

numbers. thumbs. chimps.

the eye unfolding like an uncertain bridge. steps too close. edges scraping.

the light coughed. the dark chose. each one dying of the same disease. in different poses.

she drew him. smudges and pencil scars. paper swords. left in empty stones. to draw upon. in nervous floods of ink. the grin of distant stars. hungry ghosts. to color in blank faces. and try on fallowed skins. dead leaves. a mosaic of faces. reap. the hollow.

the pantomime continues. a whisper of madness. small comfort against the roar of mediocrity.

blunt gods. without their guns. waste their munitions. on similar corpses. fallen leaves. soften the edges of broken glass.

listening. deaf hours. blind years. still find us. wanting.

The Mechanics of Men

2012-01-18T23:57:00.005-05:00

she outgrew the math. like neanderthal. climbing laborious ladders. up to locked windows. down to empty cellars. the drudgery of numbers her only tether. as the world became helium. the pale gravity of men. weaker than she thought. as it all disappeared into the shrug of an indifferent atmosphere.

space.

making us large. feverish children sucking on the splinters of popsicle sticks.

space.

proving us small. in quiet confessions. scrapes of flesh. too lean to wear. thin crutches. bland surrenders. brighter than all this darkness.

the lion. his fangs on the sun. biting down. pretending he's not hungry.

time in pale reversals. games of checkers. spoil the board. as her king dances against the check. a stubborn devil on the perimeter of perdition. repairing the apple that was bitten. with the bones of orphans.

time wakes her up. ignites that soft inferno. boiling in her fist. she pets the wolf with one hand and cuts it open with the other.

the fairy tale becomes her. breadcrumbs in the forest. stale enough to follow.

the mechanics of men. uglier than she had anticipated.

Warp Factors

2012-01-16T00:48:00.004-05:00

time machines. like warm thighs and cold lips. hum on the thick of their gears. the world spins. a manic pinwheel ferreting breath from the tight choke of the wind. its tender noose spinning life from so many corpses.

the sidewalk painted pink. she's too old to know the difference. except that it's harder now. to sleep. to pretend the day is over and life has happened. that the dream is enough.

counting. the stoic arithmetic of cold sheets. names the bean stalk. as her jack descends. and the giant crashes. her beans still useless. time machines. like dull knives. on the thick skin of epiphany. she wonders. which came first. life or death. what makes them different.

This heavy marker in her hand. that blots out the ladder up. this broken pencil between her fingers. that stabs. at the treasures that were almost drawn.

this time machine with its plastic stare. waiting for her answer.

Delayed Immunity

2012-01-16T00:04:00.004-05:00

the world is always ending. on its toes. hungry. peering in at. the opulent feasts. of the powerful and the powerless. they are the same. always wanting. bluffing that they have.

sweet panties. dealt like cards. a steep ante to sit in on worthless hands.

waiting comes in bald exceptions. the dull blade gnawing on raw meat. the hunter kills, but refuses to prepare. the dead things to be consumed.

bitter candies melting in her hands. sweet enough to slow the clock. paint her palms in sour chocolate. a flood of intensity ripe with the wretch of imminent paradox. the thunder of patience. the stumble of weakness. pushpins in paper maps. stabbing at places unwilling to be found.

the fever on stilts. high above the disease. as if they are separate. the poison in small doses. bleeds a cure. and she bathes in the blood.

Fractions of Bliss

2012-01-13T00:14:00.005-05:00

Pause. Hold your breath. See if anything changes.

Jagged pencils. Point. Draw. Confess. That it's not enough.

She lends her face to an eager stranger. Wagering against his resolve. She plays her game of hopscotch with the obvious numbers. And unexpected stones. Winning a cold component to her plan.

To be.

Her life in shallow cuts. Little blood. For many wounds. The rabbit runs. Chasing its missing foot. Frantic to win a race that scarcely knows it's in it.

She listens to the monkey. As he confesses evolution. Every bone a treason. As she works her way inside the skeleton. To find the knot in the needle. that keeps her from coming undone.

Each hour a prism. Bent fingers. Pointing at. Brightly colored villains. Broken fists. Trying to hold onto. Fading rainbows.

The math overtakes her. And she struggles with the remainder.

Weightless Conditions

2012-01-09T00:21:00.003-05:00

the end doesn't come. it only finally wakes up. After a long debate with a lazy coma.

the words aren't mine. I only borrow them. from opiates and unprotected sex.

bluffing the seldom cartographers. that leverage their maps against the contingencies of dead skin. destinations far more resilient than the travellers that take their paths. or otherwise more willing to embrace the inherent weakness. of wanting. to change.

she scribbles. stabs of ink. open wounds. she had assumed were healed.

the liar. she is. was. must be. shouts. colors. conditions. cold beds. missing blankets. smothers. under the reflex of choice. that we can wait. so long. for what is never coming.

the ripe apple. in her grip. bruised. bitten. soured. by those that have tasted. the scrape of its gravity.

the weight of the earth rapidly approaching.

the science of salvation. feeble with the parameters of decision.

the fall is nothing. compared to what comes after.

Causality

2012-01-08T01:33:00.006-05:00

slight hurricane. pisses its puddles in our path. distance. in fevers. velocity in the depth of my sickness. the simple science of temptation. reveals its mazes. torn dolls. gather their bitten smiles. and their frayed faces. the quiet tick of clocks. at last discovering this scarred flesh.

arrogant metaphors. spoil her desperate pantomime. clowns drenched in the perfumed blood of martyrs. salient garden debating the sun. for a taste of the colors still too far.

the simple ropes. tossed stone. listless games. the smother. the allegory of waiting. tricks us. into thinking we are close. the bandage. thick with scabbing blood. tells time in pennies. but purchases it in dollars.

shouting at gods she knows are deaf.

Atomic

2012-01-06T23:54:00.003-05:00

decisions. like hydrogen atoms. choices are unstable. proximity suggests patience. experience has different data.

she moves. at the speed of her temptations. velocity is manipulated by mass. distance is distorted by the scale. measurement is merely the folly of comparing. Something small against that which is larger.

she breathes. in quiet fists. desperate punches that leave no bruises. hungry skin that chases. the brittle ghosts cast by broken corners. quiver. below the growing shadows of falling giants.

snatch the bullet from the cusp of her sleep. she tumbles. roiling in deference to the suspicion. that none of it is real. a lie to near to the truth. a plague. more than welcome.

the cold mercy of madness on missing sin. the calm conviction of broken scabs.

a drop of blood. a fraction of when. anything mattered.

kill the windows. tear away the curtains. condemn the glass. reason with the monsters. that the suicide is a work in progress.

Truthful Lies

2012-01-05T00:16:00.002-05:00

yellow windows surround her. naked. hurried. without anchor. adrift.

her world is flat. not spherical in the least. and she is always close to the edge.

gravity bickers with logic. if the world ends does it still apply. can she fall off. or will she just float. suspended there. in the timeless yawn of naught.

skin poses as years and begins to ask questions.

starts to count. the dirty tiles on the bathroom floor. as the hours vomit. high on the mechanics of how. weakness spills into salvation.

blue walls make a room. gentle. shivering. without a constant. the world is flat. and small. and shrinking fast.

i wake up inside her. the years a drought. the moment a flood. deformed by her faces. drowning in her masks.

small cuts build a roof. but the rain still finds its way in.

Permission to Cry

2012-01-02T23:57:00.004-05:00

awake. delicious monster. listening to the night snore. sweating asterisks.

\solved\

laugh. stale villain. dancing to the weep of darkness. trembling parenthesis.

/paused/

speak. raw child. learning to walk. on the rippling breath of circumstance. kicking commas.

fractions of god. perspire between her legs.

( red )

sleep. spoiled outcast. on the husk of memory. taken by choices. in a frenzy of question marks.

the scowl of contrition. broken worlds blossoming under her tongue. dense like the angles on a square. broad as the math that determines. how far I've wandered.

look. find them. filthy mirrors. that swallow the day. rusting scales. that weigh what is missing.

simple pin pricks. dull needles. knotted threads. pull on the holes. not trying to close them. but only attempting to make them smaller.

she is.

you were. remember.

the victim. the villain. the voice. the observer. watching the world sleep. a fortunate case of insomnia.