I Wish I Was a Customer

withknowledgeofthesituation:

I wish I was a
customer of
this world, I
could come and
go as I please,
take my items and
leave.

But, instead, I
am an employee,
throughout all
the painful animosity,
I clock in and
clock out,
never to understand
what this world
is all about.

Oh, Me?

Oh, me? Oh, Fantastic!
I couldn’t be any better
than if you gave me
a lantern
and pointed me to
where the cave lies.

Oh, me? Oh, Fantastic!
They never gave me
any notes to take
nor pamphlets,
the world’s too
shiny for me.

Oh, me? Oh, Fantastic!
She was standing
on the table,
loose
and unapologetic,
taking royalties.

Oh, me? Oh, Fantastic!
Don’t look me
in the eye,
don’t have the wind
blow too hard,
I might fall off.


Wouldn’t that be somethin’? 

“Let’s Go For a Walk, Shall We?”

she said with a guarantee,
humming to the tune of
I Want You (She’s So Heavy).

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
she said ever-so-free,
sitting there at Stateline,
shortbreads and a cup of tea.

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
she said, here with me,
racing down the staircase
leaving behind the key.

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
she said underneath the tree,
“Let’s go anywhere, the hills
the mountains, or the seas.”

The Broken Toy Soldier

sundaynightat8on:

“Life is no fun,”

cried the broken toy soldier,

“and without any fun

I’ll be sure to die by my own gun.”

So out of his chest

climbed the broken toy soldier,

but his legs fell to bits

and the children had laid down to rest.

“It seems to be,”

thought the broken toy soldier,

“that they’d all rather sleep

than play with an old toy like me.”

His heart filled with dread,

this poor broken toy soldier,

before his gun bore a very real hole

in the side of his head.

Venus

I look at you
like a star
looks at Venus.
Except a star
never looks at
a planet,
it’s just waiting
for its time
to fucking
explode. 

Coffee

When I look
I cannot get rid of her eyes,
and just like coffee
the lows are low
and the highs are higher
than orgasmic;
I’m sorry but this
self-help book
bullshit
is honestly making me
sick.
You can take
what you want
and leave,
but just know that
coffee doesn’t
do shit to me. 

Now a Contributor to the Polkadodge Organization!

Whoo! Big thanks to Joshua Long for accepting me! Check out the blog here.


Also big ups to Jamie for encouraging me to apply!  

The Street Sweeper

I am the street sweeper.

I’m the mud on your

feet,

seething at the fact

you get more than that.


I am the street sweeper.

A dog chewing raw

meat,

teeth gnawing on your legs

complaining about the begs.


I am the street sweeper.

You’re the flame, I’m the

heat,

beating you senseless

with numbers and pencils.


You are the street sweeper.

I’m what’s good and what’s

keen,

and I still can’t believe you

don’t have a clue. 

Her

If I try to think about her, my mind wakes up from a power nap.

“What are you doing here bringing that?!” He says. “Are you waiting for the dust to mold?” It’s pretty hot in the attic, there’s been a lot of action recently. “This is too big for me, and you bring it here all the time!”

“Listen,” I say, “This’ll be the last time. I can’t take you pressuring me like this.”

“Here’s an idea,” he growls back to me, wrist-locking his knees under the rotating fan, “take it to the basement. Your love is there. I got too much shit going on up here for me to worry about your import!”

I go down the two flights of stairs. It’s cold, I haven’t seen an emptier room in my life. He’s thin, I’ve never seen a skinnier man in my life.

“Hey…man,” he says as he turns away from the windowless wall, smoking a flimsy cigarette, “Haven’t seen you down here in a while. Where’s the traffic?”

He chokes on every last word with a single breath.

“I need to give you something,” I say.

If I think about her, my heart collapses on the cement floor.

“Have you seen the type of shape I’m in?!” He screams with a coarse whisper, “Unless you enjoy the weight, get that shit outta here!”

Now I’m back to floor one. I try to leave the house, but…

If I talk to her, the door gets jammed shut.


I guess I’ll get the ladder.

Chelsea Poem (Work in Progress)

There’s a girl named

Chelsea, but she does not

know that.

She knows the

rooftops and the sky.

She knows the 

people from below

the balcony.

Chelsea, she does not

know me,

but I love her.

I Wish I Was a Customer

I wish I was a

customer of

this world, I

could come and

go as I please,

take my items and

leave.

But, instead, I

am an employee,

like a demented

New Year’s Eve,

I clock in and

clock out,

never to understand

what this world

is all about.

Ode to the Sad, Frail, and Slightly Confused

To the lonely wanderers

I make a toast,

For the ones we ache to hate

We have to love the most.

To the teeth grinders,

Hair pullers and nail biters.

To the worn out soldiers,

Fisticuff failed fighters.

They say the Great Wall

You could see it from space.

Our spirits are so small

You could pack it in a suitcase.

My brothers and sisters

Gather ‘round the campfire.

There are no songs left to sing

Because our voice is too tired.

We have no words left now

Our mouths done with speech.

We’ve come to the realization:

Our teachers don’t teach.