17 May 2010
Where I Am, Right Now, Exactly.
5:44 PM | Signed
Kelsea D |
Edit Post
I have been writing A LOT of poetry for my Creative Writing class. What's the good of all of that work if I don't share it??
Here is some of my favorites (reproduced as close as possible):
Here is some of my favorites (reproduced as close as possible):
hallucinogeneration
that was allen ginsberg (b. 1926- d. 1997)
meandering denim jacket & white lace ups seen over a
that was allen ginsberg (b. 1926- d. 1997)
meandering denim jacket & white lace ups seen over a
beige pontiac (a ‘97 as well?) the dream of american
domesticity coupling with the starving hysterical naked
best. moving simply over the lot bald ring shining
and now that I think no buttons on his jacket.
i lost sight of allen ginsberg his head & the pontiac pulling
and now that I think no buttons on his jacket.
i lost sight of allen ginsberg his head & the pontiac pulling
out from the STOP sign.
you & me
you and i sit at the fountain
you and i sit at the fountain
and the breeze feels good and
the wind shoves water at our
faces in a bid for attention. i
read my eliot (j alfred
prufrock) and you your daily
news not looking up when i
say out loud the lines i love.
for all we know the s in ts
could signify the sunshine
that pinches our eyes as you
and i sit by the fountain
feeling good because we two
are friends on this day stolen
just for ourselves.
and i would tell you that i
and i would tell you that i
love you but i know how you
would take it and that is not
“it” at all.
prufrock is not prince hamlet
prufrock is not prince hamlet
and i am not a far off admirer
waiting for an eye to catch
my eye. i just feel good in the
sunshine and water and
freedom and the person with
me that listens but doesn’t
look up knows that i love this
time. you don’t look up. and
i don’t want you too. and that
is how i love you.
Exeunt
yorick is on my t shirt and wm is on my brain and the name
on my certificate is written first then last.
time of death:
the minute i set foot in ashland whenever that was.
(twenty sixth april two thousand ten
six thirty or forty five or seven)
i know that i died because the sunlight looks different
streaming through mistletoe and brilliance.
reading shakespeare touching type and names and directions tangible like the famed tunnel and light shining in almost death. rising mothers in the breast are easily conjured and stowed and shoved between covers and cases. true death free from connotation and denotation strikes when the stage is set with fine leg and low voice and beard or no beard. the breast rises and is stroked by vibrations of me and she and he and we until the heart bursts with the moment and our presence is freed and encased in the womb of the cool dark theater. to exit is to be exposed.
i emerge.
in heaven where the sunlight looks different
and his face hangs the streets
i will not be pricked tickled bled for another
seventy three hours or so.
yorick is on my t shirt and wm is on my brain and the name
on my certificate is written first then last.
time of death:
the minute i set foot in ashland whenever that was.
(twenty sixth april two thousand ten
six thirty or forty five or seven)
i know that i died because the sunlight looks different
streaming through mistletoe and brilliance.
reading shakespeare touching type and names and directions tangible like the famed tunnel and light shining in almost death. rising mothers in the breast are easily conjured and stowed and shoved between covers and cases. true death free from connotation and denotation strikes when the stage is set with fine leg and low voice and beard or no beard. the breast rises and is stroked by vibrations of me and she and he and we until the heart bursts with the moment and our presence is freed and encased in the womb of the cool dark theater. to exit is to be exposed.
i emerge.
in heaven where the sunlight looks different
and his face hangs the streets
i will not be pricked tickled bled for another
seventy three hours or so.
Amen
awakening Thursday morning i find the sty has ruptured thick layers of pus
sticky orange and yellow crackle on the lid of my eye
hot washcloth and coffee restore my vision
i can see my warm life well fed nourished lying on the extra
leaf of the dining table.
awakening Thursday morning i find the sty has ruptured thick layers of pus
sticky orange and yellow crackle on the lid of my eye
hot washcloth and coffee restore my vision
i can see my warm life well fed nourished lying on the extra
leaf of the dining table.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment