The AW Thread Titles Poetry Game

Skin

Don’t think I’m not sick
of your sycophantic savagery,
talking in swirls
in your ego-driven world.

Scratch my chest,
lick your fingernails,
taste your scent;
it’s all over me again.

........there’s pieces of your pity
........lying in my bed
........there’s pieces of your skin
........wrapped around my head

Lasso my goodwill,
my moralistic
hypocrisy.
Rake my teeth over coals.
Beat me with whips of flesh,
beat me ‘til I breathe.

......................tattooing a rhythm
......................all over my brain
......................tattooing a schism
......................to help me forget my name

Where your face goes
I follow, bent and mild.
But the words won’t stop,
the singing never dies
and much as I hate to speak it
I know I’m peppered with lies.

Away I turn
from the mirror,
door to what’s beneath my

Over Exposure

sun-dance
read me my rights
twirling under gold
bubbles in my future
roller derby, rolling on
twisting in my own satisfaction
touch the purple blue
spit at the moon
nebulous thoughts and petty phrases

......and pause

put away the harpsichord,
the puppet shows,
those deep-down sentinels,
and march on to inevitability

with me,
if you please

......end pause

still-photo slideshow
hugging fountains
jumping jacks, squealing for air
sprinting past cold brick
a harmony of flicker
hegemony within my heart
lidded eyes and lippy smiles
promises and promenades

but I’ve seen it all before

At my wits end...

deadzone
creative atrophy
quicksand and thistles and heavy head

pen to paper
nothing works, nothing moves, nothing breathes

maelstrom of half-formed suggestions
fighting inside lead
hurling ideas--

spatter on my eyelids
evaporate to nothing

--death by lack of words

slow and imperious and slovenly and terrifying and disgusting
.....and exhausting and unlike everything and anything
.....and nothing at all

explosive decompression

the rend

(i think i might've broken something in my brain with this... whatever it is)

Seriously

Holding patterns
Machiavellian tendencies
soul-scouring cloth
fingers in the air
suicidal smiles and candelabra

<shout it out>freedom for the people of antiquity
for you, but never for me,
free, fee, folly

like as not
picturesque and proliferated
......<shout it out>but never perforated;
......never, ever, ever perforated

--we see sermons in the neon
and pity in the expressionless
ether of a million electrons
punching holes in the fabric of societal equity
and we honestly think
or we dishonestly ponder
or something else again--

'Halt! Who throes there?'

Later to ever and sever to lever
bold but never beautiful.

Price of Honor


He looks up from the blood on his hands,
streaky red, violet sputters,
stares across the room,
striped wallpaper, watercolor print,
like he can’t believe.

‘Got a cigarette? Fool
done shot me. Need a cigarette
before I pass on through.’

Gets no answer from the body on the bed,
gaping eyes, toes pointing out.
World goes spinning,
vacuum-packed, leaking soul.

‘On my grave, I'll finish
this thing before the
night leaves and I go jaunting with it.’

Bloody footprints leach out the door.

‘I’ll follow you, I swear, ‘til
the edge of tomorrow, like
a vapor in the breeze.’

Staggers forward, got no strength
gravity presses down
down
down
compresses comprehension
of a well that’s bleeding out.

Remaining strength, drags himself to the bed,
floral duvet, spongy mattress.
Looks at the body of his sister,
says, ‘I love you and I’m
sorry I couldn’t save you
and maybe if I hadn’t tried
things would’ve turned out all
right.’

The newspaper headline,
bold print, front page,
says nothing,
cold statistics, impersonal narration.

And their ashes sit in urns
on a mantel next to pictures
that look older than they are.

(with apologies to caseyquinn)

watching the stars watch me

you, me
and a bottle of red, red wine
lap it up
across the culture-chasm

me with leather belt
across abdominal strain
........pay me with honey
........drippings of languish
sweat in nose
bloody eyes
ringing up for change

you with evening dress
across temporal curves
........race me through dessert
........heel steps of chocolate
blushing cheeks
jeweled fingers
statue for a gaze

................here and now
................and only in this instant
................forever
................we watch the moon
................and howl
................for something other
................than nothing
................that feels like
................everything

glasswork
facades of purple swirling
dust and lust and rust


sincerely yours,
champion of the world

Trying to move up in the world


Grimy gutter
corner of 53rd and Vine
getting closer
to the edge of the line

Dreamy nights
beneath smoggy skies
kiss you in my sleep
beg mercy for all them lies

..........Some days I feel dust in my pocket
..........and other’s pennies and dimes
..........but either way I still got all my mem’ries
..........of much better times
..........to keep me moving
..........rolling on
..........stone with no moss
..........man and his song.

But things are perking up
future’s looking tight
‘cause I know fo’ sure
everything will turn out all right

Off-key arpeggio
I’ll play here all day
half-gloved fingers
harmonica my pain away

Practical Utopian

i.

Leaves and gutters
flutters both in wind and sail
hail the passing summer’s moon
swoon for all we missed
list in the aftermath

wrath of the irretrievable
perceivable in ways we don’t share
swear to understand
band together now, to create
hate for the past
last until tomorrow

sorrow is always borrowed


ii.

it’ll put you on tenterhooks
sooks and soldiers alike
strike at a forgotten foe
grow like grass in spring
sing us a stream

cream of the crop
top of the tower
sour taste on the tongue
young is as young does
fuzz of the future world
unfurl the mighty banners

planners never rely on manners


iii.

live through an infant new tide
ride the slaves of change
arrange the now and then
pen it all as a reminder
finder keeper if you must

rust shines history
mystery of the corrupted crop
drop the platitudes
attitudes are what counts
bounce in good cheer
fear is something disappeared
reared no more by ball and chain

pain is no longer a reason for refrain