there’s salty sweat pouring down my face from pent up humidity stress desire passion and i know (everyone knows) that the clouds are about to cum & sure as shit they do and now i’m inhaling petrichor in deep long breaths like a fine cigar watching the sky orgasm onto the earth & hoping something blooms.
If you like photography...
check out/follow my friend Caterina Fedyk. She’s doing some really cool things in Vietnam right now. http://onlytwentyseconds.tumblr.com
stopped at the liquor store after work for a couple pints of beer, dying sweating bullets & shooting blanks saw a girl i used to know put my head down, not from shame but from an introverted desire to avoid conversation or a reunion or any “what have you been up to since i saw you last” bullshit none of it matters really i’ve been living fine...
Trying to talk to people on here is like pulling teeth. What’s up?
met a man who couldn’t find love so he sold himself to a dream & woke up happy.
meditations from the inbound six
there’s a woman who drives the bus & we see each other every day but we don’t know each others names; just a “good morning” or “good afternoon” depending on the time of day, but it’s a good relationship I’d say. (she even said “i should know you by now” this morning) & there’s a guy waving his arms for...
black bat tat on her back fat her name’s pat crazy about cats always wears a sun hat & right now as you read this she’s fucking some sleaze named matt, but she’s been on more cocks than a dog pecker gnat. can’t blame her though because when they tell you you’re good at something, you just want to do it all the fucking time.
Please check out my friend Caterina Fedyk at onlytwentyseconds.tumblr.com. She’s currently on a photojournalism assignment in Ho Chi Minh City & shooting some really amazing shots.
inhale life exhale death my ears pick up absolute thresholds of a heartbeat concerto circles of sinners playing violin marches for the damned destruction outside my window’s a still life picasso painting waiting to come alive like poetry bouncing off ginsberg bellies & the birds screaming at each other until their lungs bleed but it sounds like mozart to...
Little boy hanging on to a red balloon; lived too fast, died too soon.
& he smiled
Gave a pack of squares to a panhandler with alcohol on my breath.
riding my bicycle on the way home from work i saw an old man pushing 90 standing by his car in an old state trooper uniform- tie & all, pressed & slacks with perfect creases and on his feet he wore shiny black shoes. “nice day out!” he said to me “sure is!” i told him & all i could think about was what he had eaten for breakfast...
because it's spring
all of that is bad sex drugs rock & roll- bad had an oedipus complex fucked her dad now the mailman carries on toe jam jock itch like a son of a bitch slinky sunshine slap happy hour drink your beer sour jump off the eiffel tower party with some college kids date rape drug of choice who makes the most noise drop bombs dirty dreams wet from sweat...
the house at the stoplight, yeah, someone’s getting the shit fucked outta them in there right now. kids walking down the sidewalk & old lady’s on their way to bible study & i knew a guy who blew his fucking brains out but i see his doppelgänger everywhere so i wonder if that sonofabitch is still alive somehow.
Caterina: allow me to introduce myself →
onlytwentyseconds: So, starting this photography blog has been on my to-do list for about 6 months…along with selling old clothes, writing thank you notes for Christmas gifts, and sleeping more than five hours at a time. But freshman year of college kept me a little busier than I’d thought. Luckily, this task…
Check this out.
please pretty, please
a house quaint & cute with two eyes windows i see inside a woman dressing nude now breasts soft clean legs long slender hair hiding in a towel steaming sweat dreaming of him & he of her far too far to touch left to memories & imaginations she hesitates and considers her desire to be touched fucked cuddled & held loved hearts same key beats...
believe you me
the saddest part of living is not that someday you’re going to die, but rather that someday all the memories of you will die too.
the dandelions’ve resurrected like an old love, springing up unexpectedly as if we forgot they were there sleeping all winter. & the rain pulls them up from the ground with the sunshine & there’s no nectar to be made from their pollen so i leave my pheromones to the wind hoping someone will find me & teach me how to see through eyes blinded &...
kennedy riding bitch in his convertible lincoln listening to jackie ramble on about nothing important & so he looks despondently on wishing she would just shut the fuck up about marilyn already & suddenly, oswald the photographer shoots him (a head shot) with his italian carcano kodak blowing his fucking mind & jackie just nonchalantly reaches back and grabs...
saw three guys standing by a pile of red mulch two of them looked to be in their twenties & the other maybe fifty and the sun is still burning dew off the grass & these two twenty something’s are shoveling this mulch like slaves while the fifty something stands like a drill sergeant- arms crossed, smoking his cigarette. they must be union & the...
we’re all just w a i t i n g for our own time to shine.
hung my shirt up on a unicorn horn & grabbed a handful of stars put my dark shades on lit a cigarette called my chauffeur woke up
the sound of bare feet lifting from the tile floor, taking a step after standing & sweating & waiting for too long.. & some say it was the fruit eve tempted adam with that sent him to hell but i’m sure after all it was just the warm wet heaven between her legs.
right now there’s a kindergartner getting up off the ground because he couldn’t handle the recoil of his semi-automatic rifle & another kindergartener is getting up off the ground because a girl with cooties pushed him down and believe it or not, someday the cooties infected kid will grow up to hate the gunslinging one & the gunslinging one will hate...
not even yourself
for the never fully rested parking garage squatters who lie in sleeping bags on the back seats of their cars; the proverbial alcoholics who don’t attend meetings, drowning their sadness like an unwanted child until the flashing lights illuminate the truth that you’ve never really got anything at all & never really owned anything at all.
earthworms down-and-out vagabonds carrying what they could salvage from their flooded homes make their journey across the sidewalk desperate to find a new place to live before the sun comes out from behind the clouds and burns them all to death.
people-watching from a third story window on a...
it’s three a.m. & she catches my eye walking in white socks but holding high heels & i thought the socks with sandals thing was over, but she’s got on jeans and a sweater, american burqa on a promiscuous night such as this and you can tell that she’s a supermodel in her own mind maybe even her trailer park & she stops walking and my eyes dart to see...
they teach because they can’t do & if the general consensus hates ‘em too then they kill ‘em err organize a coup & it all turns out the same but called by a different name governing is just a game of making everyone feel insane & they worm inside your walnut sized brain ‘till you’re scared shitless thinkin’ your own brother might just...
don't kid yourself, kid
i’m nervous today like a gazelle in the Serengeti with the lioness creeping through the brush while the crocodile waits in the murky mud. & i’d sit here forever if someone would just come along and spit in that mud & wipe it on my eyes so i could see my future & not have to worry every day because sometimes it’s what you know that makes you shit...
far from home
i saw a catfish trapped downstream, on the other side of a decorative concrete drop-off in the river, he must have swam over by accident or complacency but he was stuck & far from home, unable to be saved. & sometimes that was me.
sitting at the park watching people live
children in the park flying kites- one with a long red tail & the other with a blue tail & i sit quietly in my car watching them in their innocence. they’ve yet to pay taxes. they’ve yet to die. they care about nothing more than flying their kites in the park next to the river where banded geese seek refuge from hunters, where the homeless sleep and...
wearing your skin
do you ever get tired of living in your body & wearing your skin covering up your insecurities with designer clothing oh, teach me the most effective way to hide my insides without killing my pride all is vanity & that is a lie.
the family got the news, no april fools their baby died with kidneys like horseshoes & this is for him & maybe it’s for the better but they’re coming home to a quiet house for the first time in two years & my heart breaks for them.
my steering wheel is covered with spit from singing along to songs this drive is too long & i still remember when smiling just felt wrong but it’s alright now because i’m alive i found a way to survive, found truth in a white lie no, it’s more than that serious as a heart attack there’s a woman i love & i’m not looking back no, i’m...
the trees & bushes are budding like adolescent girls- earlier & earlier every fucking year.
you’re nothing profound, but rather basic attempting to conceal your foolishness & unoriginality with a veil of cliche rhymes and the word of the day. my friend, you really should quit.
altered & pressed
woke up not a care in the world: no work today, no funerals either went to the dry cleaners to get some things altered & pressed “sure. we’ll fit it in.” says the middle-aged woman & now i’m down at the coin laundry waiting for the spin cycle to complete.
hearing the songbirds usher in the morning light makes me feel alive
another poem written about people who don't know
so here i am in this cafe sipping on my dark roast sweetened with honey & listening to the soundtrack of multiple conversations meeting and merging in the air & suddenly a baby starts crying and screaming & the cafe goes silent except for the music playing through the speakers: “rain drops keep falling on my head, but that doesn’t mean my eyes will...
the pen has made me weary
i’m tired of killing myself daily.
before you were born, you didn’t exist. & after you die you won’t exist. you don’t even fucking exist ever. not yesterday not today not tomorrow. not ever.
i held a human skull in my shaking hands from a time when insects were the size of cars & there’s pyramids that have yet to be discovered.
I'm pretending to be me
loqui: Through my old school I wander shaking hands and even kisses for the girls I never got to kiss back then and then I pretend to be them & it’s a dream shaking my own hand & kissing my own lips & my tongue feels suddenly like sand & sweat slicks my palm but it feels like déjà vu when they tell me that they’re pretending to be me & I’m just...