May cause you to prefer
The company of wolves
But my voice is my voice
The similarities it has with others
Are the beautiful work of life
In you I see the reshaping
Of a myth with science
That tells me that you were not
Once a part of me
That I was once a part of you
And at this moment
A new myth forms
Like morning light
Abandoning the dark night
These old feelings
Like books
And grand sailing ships
Clear windows of glass
To new worlds
Now something different
Heavy chains around my neck
Running through sand
Disguising the path
Inspired by the whip
Of totally different worlds
Not great but perfect
Like a baby holding a baby
The sun is not up yet
You make me pay
You make me pay
The rain brings out the forest smells
Kids are walking to school in it
The dog barks at them from inside
Every day
There is so much more to learn
To burn away
We are climbing mountains on our knees
Building bridges with match sticks
The castle walls are waffle cones
Do they all know how similar we are?
How hard it is for love
To age
As American kids our lives were
Governed by burning cigarettes
Trips to the liquor store
We were so excited about our boredom
Analyzing every breath
Like it was starving
In a war torn country
Failing to convince our parents
Of things
We were right
The look of a squirrel
Is the same as forty thousand
Screaming fans
How does the dog understand the light
How could I know
This is the old man
I would be
It’s the one year anniversary of the Open Poetry readings at Revolution Records. We’re going to celebrate with several featured readers, an open mic, free wine, & a very special announcement from 8th St. Publishing Guild & Revolution Records. You definitely don’t want to miss this one! Open to all.
Featured readers will include Matt Roth, Evan Thomas, & Patrick Sanders
Revolution Records Kansas City
1830 Locust St, Kansas City, Missouri 64108
7-9pm
FB Event
8th St. Publishing Guild is a Kansas City-based publisher of avant-garde/surrealist poetics. We love submissions. To submit or learn more, visit us online or come to meet us in person at our monthly readings.
https://www.8thstreetpublishing.com/
I am never alone
Swiping at the pain
Touching the dirty glass
There’s nothing new about a Coke Float
Unless it is a New Coke Float
I pull through you like a car wash
Eyes like trains
Trained eyes inspire vertigo
Dharma at Arby’s
I don’t want to know how I did today
Tell me how I found love in parking lots
We laugh at tenses
The electric wind covers conversations
With simulated randomness
I could shoot a movie
“Bring something back”
We explored galaxies from the back seat
That tree was Vietnam
The streetlamp is oxygen
I don’t need to know
The rain puts you here
The window places us and then
I unlock my bicycle and ride home
Things were working
A stiffness
Prodding you in the back
Like an old boner
Attack it with a golf club
Tennis racket, garden hose
Work with professionals
People will spend a lot
To keep an ice cube
From melting in the sun
Open micing smartphones
Podcasts about poetry
Why bother being a star
When you can just look like one?
We sat with our own thoughts
And we wrote little things
On pieces of paper
That’s what we did
We ran wild in the streets
We put coins in slots
So inefficient
So disconnected
The noises told us
There are no beaches
In this town. No rolling waves to
Wash our un-wanteds back out to sea
Here we bury our trash
Dig it up after 48 hours
Then devour it
Slathered in barbecue sauce
No sliding foam across the sand
Or salty wind to mask the
Seagulls’ starving cries.
The sky has no competition
There is no port of entry. We
Have no way to see them coming
Things just pop up
Like grass. We cover
Them in colored blankets
And offer up a contract
Like soldiers in a war.
But there is no war. There
Is only God and weather.
And we do not fear the weather.
Like a mirror pointing outward
We long to be ourselves
In the reflection of the world
Like a painted mirror.
Like lipstick on a bowl of oatmeal
It’s the sin that makes the
Fucking so good
The sandbags of guilt that
Keep the church basement dry
Pure pure. It’s been so long.
The kind of pure you could just kill for.
We covet what we have
A peak within a valley
It’s different for cows
Flatness
The earth, canvass, the screen
It all disappears when we sleep
Even in sleep mode
We act like it’s the same
And it is
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
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.
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.
Beef Jerky Clouds 