moooooooooreeeeeee poeeeeeetryyyyyy -----------
2003
by JR
*
All the people and religions I have dismissed
Sometimes visit through the window
One leg over the sill at a time
How they stretch so far, I'm not sure
Ghosts are not accountable to gravity
She pointed a gun at me, her white gloves curling
Around it, hand-held auto death machine
**
Understanding Campbell's soup
isn't that important as we turn
the corner of the new gentleman's
Imperialism
***
Blonde jealousy, as stupid as it sounds
Pain is only prose when you stop feeling it
Say hello to salad and expensive views
Someone paying you what you're worth in 2003
The undocumented trash-pickers who
wake you. What do you expect
for leaving your window open?
****
Sianora, the stereotype of a homegrown
Asian flower. What role do these shady
dealings play in sober conversations
about a quiet woman's curves? Love has little
to do with fair trade
*****
The ultimate confession is the secret one
about the stuff in your blood
To make a wife of her despite it all
The backwards mumbling after bad sex
tends to echo
******
Don't ask me the question on
our tongues
Modern bridges, Hart Crane
The gay, god-damn bastard had it right
I'll pick up your seaward voyage
Here in Boston and I will ride it to your death
Reach through the floor
All rebels break walls
*******
Creeping in the window
The sick circles we run in when we run away
The stone that triggers animal instinct
The night was young
The wind rushed in
There was a note tied to it with familiar script
Another woman turned in the sheets to see the chaos
The Asian back-archer
Swinging one tan leg to the floor before the other
********
Later we had Campbell's soup
The innocuous, rock-throwing soup girl
I could not help but laugh
Her message like a boomerang
*********
Thank God, I thought, to see
My nephew writing poetry about mustard gas
and skateboarding
The pendulum has cut the rest of us to ribbons
Our fat bellies full of sex
and art, heaving themselves
through tenement windows, hand over hand
limb by sad, sober limb.
We trudge across a neon night - the landscape
and begin to dig the repetition
of our own sick circles of everything
The modern havoc of
Alone, alive and well
2003
by JR
*
All the people and religions I have dismissed
Sometimes visit through the window
One leg over the sill at a time
How they stretch so far, I'm not sure
Ghosts are not accountable to gravity
She pointed a gun at me, her white gloves curling
Around it, hand-held auto death machine
**
Understanding Campbell's soup
isn't that important as we turn
the corner of the new gentleman's
Imperialism
***
Blonde jealousy, as stupid as it sounds
Pain is only prose when you stop feeling it
Say hello to salad and expensive views
Someone paying you what you're worth in 2003
The undocumented trash-pickers who
wake you. What do you expect
for leaving your window open?
****
Sianora, the stereotype of a homegrown
Asian flower. What role do these shady
dealings play in sober conversations
about a quiet woman's curves? Love has little
to do with fair trade
*****
The ultimate confession is the secret one
about the stuff in your blood
To make a wife of her despite it all
The backwards mumbling after bad sex
tends to echo
******
Don't ask me the question on
our tongues
Modern bridges, Hart Crane
The gay, god-damn bastard had it right
I'll pick up your seaward voyage
Here in Boston and I will ride it to your death
Reach through the floor
All rebels break walls
*******
Creeping in the window
The sick circles we run in when we run away
The stone that triggers animal instinct
The night was young
The wind rushed in
There was a note tied to it with familiar script
Another woman turned in the sheets to see the chaos
The Asian back-archer
Swinging one tan leg to the floor before the other
********
Later we had Campbell's soup
The innocuous, rock-throwing soup girl
I could not help but laugh
Her message like a boomerang
*********
Thank God, I thought, to see
My nephew writing poetry about mustard gas
and skateboarding
The pendulum has cut the rest of us to ribbons
Our fat bellies full of sex
and art, heaving themselves
through tenement windows, hand over hand
limb by sad, sober limb.
We trudge across a neon night - the landscape
and begin to dig the repetition
of our own sick circles of everything
The modern havoc of
Alone, alive and well