Escape Velocity

Neil YoungThe grainy video of seventy seven shows a
Plume of scruffy, squiggly white smoke.
The umbilical cord of a star chaser.

All of the minds, all of the math, all of
The all of we humans could muster, tied
To a snaking white plume of smoke.

They tell us one of the twins escaped
Mother earth by the faintest margin,
Three and half seconds.

Then onward,
Nineteen billion miles.
Relentless among the far stars.

She left us quietly, and without fuss.
Escaping the cold edge of our system.
Never even looking back,

Upon the cold houses and dark streets,
Upon White Houses and black neighborhoods,
Cracked bridges, or Neil Young videos.

Thirty six thousand miles per hour,
Escape velocity.
I want to run without friction.

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Fuck you

CuffsFuck.
Fuck you.
Fuck you I screamed.
I did scream.
A broken, sharp kind of
Scream.

Tears welling and the
Fuck YOU
Was more for the tears
Than for you.
For you
I would die.

But here I cry.
Fuck you.
I wish I could go.
Could show.
Could show you I
Could go.

But fuck you,
I write.
Because I’m bound,
Despite
It all
My love is sound.

Fuck you babe.
I’m sorry to say.
Such a hurtful
Way to express,
Love in all its
Lovely ..duress.

 

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It can be subtle

There is her fret of pout and stare.
Off into the early Evening elms,
Littered with starlings,
Noisily jostling for night warmth.

It seems subtle, yet subtle is a tricky
Word.  S-U-B-T-L-E: suttle. See?
How cleverly hard.
Gentle push, indiscernible hint.

Subtly the smoke curls from her fingers.
Softening light sleeps along her pale wrist.
Green spring peepers whistle in chorus.
Faint breath of breeze brushes hair.

At last she mutters her timid apology,
A secret code, thrust bare into
Early evening air, as feathered rows cloak
BlackOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA branches, and she leans into me – subtly.

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Cats

I watch the cat roll in the floor,
Licking herself
Clean.

Bathing in her own tongue
Seems so sensually
Efficient.

I stroke her soft fur
Afterward as she purrs,
Delightfully.

Her green eyes not once
Look into my own.
No.

Cats look through you,
As though they alone
Exist,

And we are merely toys
Ready to satisfy..Cat
Meows.

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Loathing

 

Loathing

Liken the language of love to the loathing of living.
Make sense? About how hard it is to love – you know?
And the times when simply breathing takes more life
Than your listless lungs wish to muster.

In these moments I stare starkly at nothing. A leaf.
Ants dribbling by on the window ledge; people far below;
Thin clouds wafting away, like wisps of white dreams;
The molded bread on the table which smiles cruelly.

In these moments I forget to breathe, so lost are
My real eyes and so far away has love slunk, sulking.
In these moments I could be a fish, water as oxygen
Inside looking out, as life mocks, calling – “love me.”

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Abrupt

I thought she’d love me as many times as I held her.
Close, like the night, squeezing her side and pulling
Her against my stomach and holding her there and kissing

Her hair, while saying something soft and low against her ear.
All this time we danced softly to the whine of the speaker
On her phone, a soft jazz singer telling us about this love.

“Let’s go the movies Boo,” she said, trying to rein in my urge.
“This will keep.”
It was surrender and best to listen

‘Cept I moaned as she tugged my hand toward the car.
In the dark theater we munched popcorn as she fought
My hand of roaming lust, saying “watch the movie, Boo!”

I thought she’d loved me, me giving her the movie
And all, and still hungry for her full body.
Imagine my sickness at her showing me the ring, after.

“Why’d you drag me to the movies then, Day Day?”
“I don’t know Boo, maybe I wanted you to know I like
Going to the show with you.”

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Talent

jimi.jpeg   

Hey that mutherfucker cld make that guitar talk couldn’t he?
I mean make that fucker screeeammmm.
Toe it up man! Toe it up.

One time I seen him play behind his back baby.
I’m talking bout –  looking at the crowd and he’s playin
Full tilt, behind his fucking back and not missin a lick.

Who does that shit? Who fuckin does that shit?
I couldn’t hold his beer man. Could not hold his
Fucking beer!

In the end he couldn’t take that kind of fuckin
Magic man. To be that talented. For that shit
To be that fuckin easy to a guy.

Ain’t nobody knows what its like to be that
good but a few. And it kills them. KILLS them!
Its like, “why me?”, you know?

“Why the hell did I get picked to have this
shit come so easy?” In the end its just too much;
All the yelling and screaming. And for what?

Something they been doing since they was
Ten years old, man. So fucking easy.
Too easy to live, that’s the curse.

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