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gunslinger

Member Since 2003

Followers 4 Following 2

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Friday Sep 05, 2003

Sep 5, 2003
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Ok not really anything interesting to say: THis is a piece of poetry or something like it that I wrote about a year ago. For some reason it freaks me out.


Dangerous Times

Sometimes when you least expect it
The sky does not show up,
the clouds have already finished marching past
the grass is blue on the other side
and so must we be or how would we know?

Sometimes when you've just about had enough....
Those who hunt you, those who stalk you
and seek your destruction
Save your life
Oh really? I thought that was only in the movies.

Press that button on the
front of the TV that
says
"Setup"
I knew it

Sometimes when I'm feeling playful....
the word, standby
is all that comes out, that and,
47 bullets
you knew he would be there didn't you?
You knew and yet you came
and you came dressed for the weather
So really, kid, who do you think you're fooling?

Do the words mean anything anymore?
I fear it's the actions
the word
the words
the word's
POWER
I'll steal it and keep it in a small glass bottle
I'm not afraid to steal anymore
It is arousing
don't you think?
Better find one with a tight cork
These are dangerous times

And so we ride by camel
by moonlight
by the seat of our collective
pants
or was it bootstraps that pulled us up
And pulled us out
and pulled us through and tightened around our
swan-like tender throats?

Was it really the blood of children that paved these city
streets with gold and the whip crack of the sally rod that
could not break the backs of a thousand slaves?
"I fear we'll never know"
quipped the professor as he poured himself a brandy

I pondered that and cried but the professor just wanted to CHILL
it's ever so hard to learn now that he has MTV2

And the sun never stopped shining in the mall across the street
and maybe that was all the reassurance the pigeons asked
Me I was Greedy
Another day another dollar
And another lesson for another
Bleary eyed kid
To scratch onto loose-leaf
With a new BIC pen
First time every time my ass

As the young impossibly gifted
freaks of nature
Freaks
Of
nature
streak through the skies over Babylon on their winged steeds
it occurs to noone
occurs too infrequently
they squawk at each other
in southern tinged gibberish
and can you imagine the feeling of pride?


"It's not so muh-ch that I lahyke whut he say-es," she drawled
"but i lahyke haowww he say-es it", a giggle and a roll of the ocular stuff
"spacially at six thutty in the moanin on a frahday aftuhnoon"
and with that she flashed her perfect
and i mean perfect
perfect-o chico
teeth
to the room and left, not
worried about all day protection and visible panty lines

the professor winced
"my dear boy
i'm afraid it is better to be glib than to be right
these are dangerous times"
to be a cheetah
or a lemur
or 19 year old girl out on her
second date
it's freshman year for the love of God
and who the devil is peering through the window
in space
at this hour?

The professor gets lost sometimes
in the thump
the booty shakin
Ja Rule
Tribe
MosDef
he says he could teach those guys some thing
whatever
it's harder to learn but
everynow and then he sits back
the beard
it used to be thicker no?
No it's always been like this
maybe a little darker but even then it's all shades of grey
right
dangerous times indeed. But in a rocking chair down south
with green so lush and humid it
DRIPS
and liquor calms the soul like nothing ever happened
Dripping from a hundred thousand glasses in a hundred thousand
cheap-ass
nickelodeon
paperback
throw away
bus station
melodramas
People think about dinner and how theyre gonna fit all those extra people
When Christmas comes


And the professor squinted against the blinding cobwebs of mental atrophy and
smiled and said
I keep meaning to plant tobacco
And some of those whiplash plants
?
they smell
Like licorice, you know
Isnt that Anise?
Naturally
Maybe this year maybe
next
but mark my words four square,
tis better to have loved and lost
but I felt like I had been a pick-a-ninny
sitting on a cotton bale doing nothing as the
shoes were thrown and the cartwheels came off
its just as well
nothing grows in the asphalt these days
anyway
except parking lots
so let's go back inside and CHILL
I followed







VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
koleeta:
ok I read it.

It's long....but good. I like it.
Sep 11, 2003
bitchboi:
I liked the poem and thanks for you reply on my journal.

You hit the nail on the head.

figures.. you're from Chicago
Sep 16, 2003

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