Stop looking for the real me 6/16/18 @ The Brick (KC, MO) #poetry

Major Matt Mason USA

IMG_6923 photo by Hillary Watts

I am not the man I was a minute ago
I’m not the man you think I am
I’m not the man.
I might not be
A man at all
I might not be your mother
You mother’s mother
Who might not be the man
I may have never been.

She may have been a big beautiful
Pink sky
Who opened up one day
Above a high school that
Looked like a penetentary

She may have been a dark cloud
Moving along a powerful wind
That blew a baby bird from it’s nest
Leaving it to perish on an empty sidewalk

Maybe that bird was just a thought
That formed into a question.
A question about hair…
How do I look in these jeans?
What time is it?
I can’t hear you.
Are you going to say you’re sorry?

Hearing your own voice.
Sounds like someone…

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Mammarial Day

Take time today to
Remember dead heroes
And stoned ladies on stage

Take some more for dead heroines
The twice forgotten
Take twice as much time as that
And consider what a hero is to you

A trombone up my ass
A trombone up my ass
A little Philip Glass
And a trombone up my ass

Less attention to the speach speakers
The game gamers
The pay for prayers.
Converse with the dead.
Dead people make great listeners
You can learn a lot from a dead person.

Who painted these walls
Who put all these dents in the ball
Hunters and gatherers.
What is this stage for
It’s like
The audience forgot
How to be an audience

Sometimes in our attempts
To move boulders
We blow dust
In people’s eyes

Keeping the air clean and clear
Is all you need to see
The sculpture
Inside the enormous rock
In front of you

Book of faces

You have no idea
Analytica Karenina

Largest organ of the human body
Whack-a-mole of hives
Stealing our moments
Salving our thighs
Coming to things
Respecting the written word
Falling behind while catching up
Cutting and pasting
Repetition is a chemical reaction

Just being in the same room
Something behind everything
Repetition is a part of physics

It’s time to flush out the poison
Psychometric Nightmare Band
Put on a little makeup
Mix it with some body fluids
And stuff collecting in gutters

Lincoln center
Fourty second street
Sixth street Indian restaurants
What’s a man to do?
Read the menu
Turn the channel
Click the link
Look up
Look out
Consult the Stars
Get a drink
Stop thinking about it
Network
That should satisfy them
See, there’s work in there
Now am I allowed?
Now am I permitted to?
Have I expressed the right amount of Gratitude.
Are you happy enough to stop?
Have you made them happy
So they can stop
Looking at your self
And look at yourself
And feel they made
Them happy.

Cincinnati, OH @ Woodward Theater 05/05/18 #poetry

Schwervon!

fullsizeoutput_84d photo by John Smallwood

Cigarette butts and apple sauce.
There’s aliens in our midst
Self indulgent birthday guitar solos
Lavender oil on bearded clams
Green lights that turn green
And then green
And then back to green again.

You made a sound
Like a little baby,
When you were a little baby

I wore my funeral dress to the wedding
You put your credit card
Where your mouth is
Lisa 4517

Say you say me
I hear you crying out
Behind a wall of doubt
And who will pay for the wall

Too poor to take the pill
I’ll leave you in my will
Then foot you with the bill
Attica!
Atta boy!
Add a bake potato for just
Three bucks!

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Side Lines 4/29/18

IMG_6769

photo by Rosie DeGennaro

To learn that I will not be the one
To take you across the finish line.

And life can even be better with a bum knee.
Unlocking the heeling properties of ice

At this point I’d take a satisfying bowl movement
Over a drink any day.
Who am I kidding,
It was always this way.
My father never talked to me about sex.
But, since I was seven,
I had my own bathroom.

And what a beautiful discovery
That it is okay to cheat
When the rules are there
Just to keep the lights on.

Where water collects
On an oily pan.
The similarities between
A monk and a clown.

Walking a dog through the
Blooming buds
I have learned my role
In this love affair.

I am not the one
Taking you across the finish line.
I am the one cheering you on
From the side lines.

It’s time

The light changes things
Three weeks is a long time

The rock changes
No connection to history
It’s just the wind
The midpoint
A scab on a knuckle
Word of the day

The rock changes
So unfimiliar with real love
It doesn’t move or try.

Maybe I am the first to notice
An astronaut of rocks
I see the dents, soften

They are like I was
I am like them.

The paper lives 

The paper lives
We take it seriously
Or not

The sticks we sit on
In in waiting room

Wet leaves
Beneath  our
Hospital beds

The art work drips
From the side of the staircase

Keep us from falling out

We decorate with rocks
And native grasses
The dog smells the day
From the back steps

The millions of coffee mugs
Not properly washed
When the work creates
Dirty dishes serve many purposes