Chemicals are soluble
mixed with blood
so it seems
fragile
memories we shared
exchanging platitudes
through half-hearted smiles
Each second with you
was a slow-motion snuff film
flashing in black and white
I was the prisoner
under your serrated knife
Posts
Heyyy, it's Liz Vicious in there, right? Oookkay, kind of awkward...
ReplyDeleteI still don't quite manage to get into these, but, uh, I like words, so, 'tis all cool :p
Creepy and vaguely disturbing without presenting a good reason for me to feel that way.
ReplyDeleteI like it!
Do you watch Dexter? I'll be watching season 3, episode 4 tonight. You seem like you might enjoy Dexter. In a good way.
ReplyDeleteMud,
ReplyDeleteIn case you didn't see my comment down below, next time you are on YouTube look at Billy Collins poem, The Dead.
He's got some others too.
He served two terms as the Poet Laureate of the United States from 2001 to 2003. In his home state, Collins has been recognized as a Literary Lion of the New York Public Library (1992) and selected as the New York State Poet for 2004. He is a few years older than me but still writing as far as I know.
Mud -
ReplyDeleteIMO - this is better. either that, or I'm getting used to your writing style.
I wouldn't have said it to your earlier 'works', but - keep posting 'em.
hey thanks guys.
ReplyDeleteliving, actually this is a piece from an older poem "Photographic", so yeah.
I like the imagery of watching a snuff film on a fucked up black and white. Conveys the agony of being with someone you love and hate at the same time.
Some say snuff films don't exist, but I think they do. I don't know.
and if she looked like liz vicious, I would take back everything I just said, haha
ReplyDeleteAre we dealing with some anger issues here?
ReplyDeleteAnyway, check this one:
8 Count
From my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.
Charles Bukowski
Ah heck, just one more:
ReplyDeleteA Radio With Guts
it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street
I used to get drunk
and throw the radio through the window
while it was playing, and, of course,
it would break the glass in the window
and the radio would sit there on the roof
still playing
and I'd tell my woman,
"Ah, what a marvelous radio!"
the next morning I'd take the window
off the hinges
and carry it down the street
to the glass man
who would put in another pane.
I kept throwing that radio through the window
each time I got drunk
and it would sit there on the roof
still playing-
a magic radio
a radio with guts,
and each morning I'd take the window
back to the glass man.
I don't remember how it ended exactly
though I do remember
we finally moved out.
there was a woman downstairs who worked in
the garden in her bathing suit,
she really dug with that trowel
and she put her behind up in the air
and I used to sit in the window
and watch the sun shine all over that thing
while the music played.
Charles Bukowski
sounds good froggie
ReplyDeleteI like the repetition of the event.
like a person caught in an infinite loop like Parallel Synchronized Randomness (PSR).
If the radio was unplugged, but still playing.
Mud,
ReplyDeleteI agree, but he implies that the "current" is not broken.
That has troubled me too. Except if you are Bukowski you can always invoke poetic license, no?
Ah!
ReplyDeleteGood moral atheists without God.
Sigh...
what's a 'moral atheist'?
ReplyDeletehaha