Earth Angel
Frozen snakes
Along the path
Cheerleaders move forward
Remove the chains from your boots
Of this earth we are
No more no less
Magnificent
Month: January 2015
The last piece of the cookie
Sleeping next to someone
The last piece of the cookie
Un addressed letters
The well of pornography
Cold morning
Walking alone
Crows in the distance
Making yourself
Restrengthening old muscles
The first time
The open road
Gripping the pedals
There is no mercy
Lifting
Balance
Pairs
weaker and More magical
The Christmas lights
Finally took down
Posing for photographs
Post office penguins
The wrong sized bags for things
I love how you use them
a serial drama
Looking at my time here
Too long
We linger in coffee shoppes
Across the room
listening
to each other
It’s right
How I know
weaker and
More magical
The color on paper
I don’t have to choose
The freedom comes
We listen to the sound.
We have freed ourselves
Of the soldiers
And the tattoo artists.
A path to flowers
Waking up in a tiger cage
Forgetting everyone’s name
Walks will get you places
An education takes place
A crime scene
A moment remembered
Buildings not there
Buildings there
A painting
food
In search of Perfect moments
Discovering Bad evidence
Walking alone
Lies
A path to flowers
Appear sometimes
on the road to burgers
The words pass through
The brush behind
The buildings
How do the filters hurt you
Telephones, appliances
Pick up the receiver
Look at the beautiful
Human signs
Things grow in the shadows
“Teens charged with murder”
The inevitable pace
Fire creeping around a log
Morning light trough
The basement window
Competitive worshiping
Judging the love
No mission
I am not your
nuts and berries
I cannot make new life
Things grow in the shadows
We can explore them
Together
We can mold the darkness
Like mud in the bog
Strategery of cul de sac living
Neon prison
Pepsi, Doritos, Mountain Dew
Jack hammeringaway
at lids And doors
Strategery of cul de sac living
Ticking with the natives
Gripping the ledge
Small sores
On the backs of my hands
Oh to let go
And land safely
on a memory foam of
Free napkins
Swan dive into
An endless sea of
nippled bottles
And quarter pounder wrappers
Or we could be heroes
Smoke butts
on the loading dock
Shooting at fish
in a glass barrel
I hear gun shots in the distance
I read gun shots in the newspaper
I see gun shots on the TV
But there is tolerance
And love
all around
The free air
A tasters choice… Saturday January 24, 2015 #SchwervonPoetry
Last night’s show poem.
A tasters choice
Earning every meal
Dead pidgeon on a dumpster
Beautiful hotel lights
That guy probably makes
More than both of us
Nice try asshole
Just park your fucking truck
I am confidence builder
You are insecure one
Picking fights like picking noses
I want you to succeed
in spite of me
“Ice picks on your tongue”
Long underwear on your lips
Breathe in the cold
I know I’m not the man
Who always gets things right
I’m not like Neil Young
I don’t drive cars real fast
I dabble in the dark arts
Watching ourselves
In a fishbowl
It’s painful or peaceful
Ghost of a cat
In the corner of my eye
A choice
A tasters choice
(This poem was recited for the first time on Saturday January 24, 2015 at Coda in Kansas City, MO)
Lost perfect words Between sleeping and waking
Lost perfect words
Between sleeping and waking
Give me that at least
A present for my sadness
The mystery of action
Upon all apparent vices
To see the bottom
And return
Robbins playing in snow
Squirrels dancing with sorrow
All of us
Newborns
All of us crowned in blood
You have a choice
to turn the page
Or push the button
a choice
To swim the ocean
Between them
Courage to follow
Your mind where it wanders
To make use
Of the resting places
Along the path
To heighten your quest
For soft arrows and turning logs
Eternal reverb
a voice worth worshiping
Never spilling
Just moving
Sometimes perfection Is an accident
Creating is editing
With a corpse like beauty
The Kansas sky awakes
Remember when
your hair was red?
And the cat would sleep
At the foot of the bed.
Sometimes perfection
Is an accident
Dead wood redundant
To say a dead corpse
would be redundant
But Wood can some
how Still be alive
We fire up the human fat
For our catapults
It’s not a Mongol thing
It’s a human thing
An education in
Self soothing
Time to stretch things out
Read the skin and entrails
Consult the eight ball
Plot our next move
A larger cup is not the solution
To our cup a day ration
Bless me father
My hair has thinned
We learn to Speak
softly to a dying wind
Especially in wintertime
an especially Special
Time
Dead wood redundant
Arguments survive
For generations
And
generations
Empty boxes
Old milk
Long past it’s use
A heart is just a wheel
stuck in dried mud
Sometimes
a simple revolution
Is all that’s needed
Beef Jerky Clouds 