Writer’s Block Sucks alot And keeps from doing work. Imagine the pain In my brain And how much I feel like a jerk!
Tag Archives: poem
This Screen
There is something less romantic About the way you read my poems. You hold not the paper I scribbled my soul on But a screen. I write these words on a screen and send it to yours. This screen. These screens connect us, So why do are we so alone? Why is isolation the firsContinue reading “This Screen”
Rebels Lead The March of History (a poem)
Rebels Lead The March of History! Do not forget, It was the rebels who brought forth our days! And do not forget, the people who learned, But got little praise. Stupid is a condition, Ignorance a choice, So stop the idiotic voice. So cheers to the rebels, Who died for our better days! And peaceContinue reading “Rebels Lead The March of History (a poem)”
What good is a broken man?
What an era to be alive. Yet how can one call living with no dignity living? Crawling on knees to get to a safe place to release your bowels, Begging from mercy from an overweight class traitor with shit aim Only to get 6 bullets in the back. For a cell phone. Can it beContinue reading “What good is a broken man?”
A Hand Over the Heart Does Not Feed a Hungry Child
Our content Mass production, due favors in south outlier and a perisistant traveller’s call for a prayer of peace. Tell me kid, did you know there was a future in such a romaceless field? Distracted petty feuds as it all begins to crumble and become rebuilt. Violence and rhetoric in the names of things likeContinue reading “A Hand Over the Heart Does Not Feed a Hungry Child”
Sweet Lady of our Mass Production.
Over-packaged literature, and mass production. Where is our savior street artist now? Do not patronize me, for better or worse there must be benevolence to art. The romantic dialoque of the starving struggle is no movie based happy ending. For in real life, the story carries on the next day. 9/15/15
Statements of The Modern
Broken Woes, The Soul of Man under Socialism, and other important childrens books. Would banning the bible in schools increase it’s sex appeal? Ah, sweet blasphemy and an anachronistic marriage, and a lie. Rot in jail, or pay the ticket, still in the end old songs become relevant again. 9/2015
New Word
New word, passive lacking in detail, no lie, just late facts and a painful shrug. Tedious narcotic anxiety and an even older annoying habit. We are in fact addicted to our emotions, and some are more toxic than heroin. Anger kills brain, and fear, the heart. Trapped in adolescent disposition, a generation, of late lies.Continue reading “New Word”
The Story’s Answer Part 5
How many nights? How many hours? How many words? Efforts? Deeds? Projections? Rejections? Real and imposed, now over, now true, not repeated. This is an unknown that is even unknown so unknown the unknown knows nothing of its own unknown. Rhythm all these such no know no rest, no rest for the wicked, none forContinue reading “The Story’s Answer Part 5”
Gramercy, The Journey of Jack Lewis. Chapter 13.
Chapter 13 Fun Playing God Needless to say our star crossed lovers spent that night in each others arms. In fact they had spent every night for the last three weeks in each others arms. Never had either one been so happy, so warm, so full of joy. Kate was used to men being douche-bags,Continue reading “Gramercy, The Journey of Jack Lewis. Chapter 13.”
The Story’s Answer. Part 1
Wretched hours, Cursed cliches yet sinfully, regrettably again, I write these words with a mind of conflict and a heavy heart. Thoughts and my body twisted and wrangled and always so mother bloody fucking constant. Find no pattern in these words, yet please do, For although there is no story here, There indeed is, andContinue reading “The Story’s Answer. Part 1”
Funny
Sweet some sense to think that answer and such wondering on since constant and circles and circles and circles used but not so’s word words doing one of my single women here what are we doing it’s just the same old song so many times it’s not funny. No, not funny.
Art for the Sake of Art, Words for the Sake of Words
Unconsciously composed are the truth, the start of all great coordinations and compositions. Composition for the sake of itself. For the sake of rehearsal, and practice. Practice for practice overdue but now and learned. Make no mistakes by allowing mistakes. He who laughs with understands, he who laughs at dies alone. 10/18/14
