Kite Full of Whiskey It's a kite full of whiskey a kite full of beer as it washes away all our sorrows and tears as we raise the kite into the pale blue sky into the clouds of tears up high we pray it will answer our prayers again we pray it will finally come down like rain eclipsing the sun like night and day while washing all our tears away... It's a kite full of whiskey a kite full of beer and we pray it will rain for the first time in years -rapture savant january 2012 Hartcraneblackbox Open the lid open the locks open the lid to the hartcraneblackbox Open the lid open it wide to see what lies inside And if you look inside, you can see an anachronistic crane of poetry as it spreads its wings yearning to break free to fulfill its poetic legacy As the penultimate crane flies above, you can see inside a heart of love Open the lid open the locks open the lid to the hartcraneblackbox Open the lid open it wide to reveal the heart inside. -rapture savant january 2012 For the Army
hats off to the drummer's little lady… I hate coming back to the ghost house with your miniature things scattered little chair, little piano. Just when it feels like home you want your mom and you want her more than anything including me. I finally confirmed that the Saab girl wears pretty sexy panties I don't know why I even doubted it and though the moon has been gone for weeks her chest, well I guess it was an inner glow? I wanted to hit her, for the army. Rice Crackers I had to re-buy the tamari rice crackers that you gave me I had to throw them in the dumpster I would have to throw my yearbook in the dumpster too if you were in it like those rice crackers man I bought some goat cheese medallions to go with them when I thought you were coming over. You and Your Mama We watched half of Happy Feet Two we did play dough I knew you were a genius when you really tried to mix an orange that matched the pumpkin you were painting And when you said you wanted to go home I admit, I thought "well fuck you" but just for a second, then I thought well fuck HER. Secretary oh and ah the beginning I read the books that you lent me I even bought one that I thought you might like after I read it first and set the tone and pace Did push ups over you thought your face was porcelain thought you were dead for a second thought about lying just laid down and was honestly a bit cold all night woke up in a state that rained all goddamn day. -Eric Gibbons you walk
in a forgotten part of town a storm breaks up yr marriage & you duck into a (dark) (deserted) curio shop to escape the acid rain the owner offers a drop of brandy to ward off the chill (that you can't seem to shake) then, of course a girl has to shop & on a dusty shelf in a lost corner you spot an unpainted angel with a broken wing you reach to pick it up & as you touch it a snippet of a song plays in yr head the words are on the tip of yr tongue you caress the broken angel & hum & kiss its tired lips & feel a jolt of electricity down there & you ask the proprietor for the facilities & when you close the door behind you you realise yr still clutching the angel & you set it on the edge of the sink in front of you & you could swear that its watching you as you lift yr skirt & lower yr panties & enjoy the feeling of being watched while you pee you feel a little silly walking back to the counter & as you hand the broken angel back to the owner you drop it smashing it to tiny pieces 'oh my god' you say 'i'm so sorry' the owner smiles at yr young & pretty face says 'its okay, that old angel may have been worth something once, but its been worthless for some time now' -(6/12/10) al-gene pennisom III Riots They forecast rain tomorrow. But once this pain ebbs, I will sleep through the flat, copter drone as it tans roofs and nervous walls and talks of noble rioters and various police charges, of tear gas, baton, tear gas and bricks. I will sleep through this revolt, as all twists of mobs, indignant plastic bullets and hiccups of democracy lull like rain. Manoeuvres Those precious bastards on the third floor can have their nightmares gift-wrapped and presented to their gaping jaws on steel plates, moon-shaped, like their tiring nights spent procreating sweat-stained, stinking linen on beds designed to moan and buckle as if one, final, utter thrust would push their holy lust to heaven and not just a quiet trip to the bin and a hunt for tissue paper, or a cig, or some over-sold and poisonous brand of cheap booze left rolling, half-drunk, or whatever the fuck they want after they finish their untimely tussle for all I care. But, shut the fuck up. Balls If that precocious metaphor could sing below the fading rhymes and stagger on to chain a line disjointed by its teeming themes and passing onto parts unseen and indistinct as other things that lack the slightest concrete hook and fail to find themselves in books but on the web, beneath the trees, like the purity of a disease that led all baking poets to an unrelenting facile crew part drunk, part loud, part gone, part me, I would not look with certainty. I'd use a fucking simile. John Lund (fuck off) Starman, who is one of the last living super heroes, and who's location remains unknown ("somewhere below the equator, above the sun"), sent the following letter. did I ever tell you about the time So here I am playing cards with God! I suppose your curious as to how I ended up here. Blame it on poor road signs, detours due to construction compiled with a general lack of a sense of direction. Or blame it on Will. Yeah, you know, Will. God´s right hand man. We have all heard of Will and of his immense strength and power. His earnest desire to do His bidding. Anyhow, upon arriving, I’m taken aback at seeing how young He looks. I think I can even detect a pimple erupting on his nose, (I’m talking adolescence here). When I comment on his youthful appearance, He gets defensive and in what can only be described as a BOOMING VOICE He shouts ALL OF YOU. (I interrupt here, asking " all of who?") HUMANITY! YOU THINK I’M THIS ALL-POWERFUL, ALL-KNOWING, PERFECT PIECE OF WORK. Well, personally, I never really actually thought of Him that way,or any other way. But seeing how He obviously had something to get off His chest, I play along. ...continues to shout GOD-DAMMIT( my eyes pop at His choice of words), I’M JUST STRUGGLING LIKE THE REST OF YOU! LEARNING AS I GO ALONG (on-the-job training, so that´s where that clever idea originated) ...never shuts up WHO SAYS PERFECTION CAN’T EVOLVE? TELL ME WHERE IT SAYS THAT IN THE BIBLE? (He had me there, myself not being much of an expert on the Good Book). ...seems to need to vent some more AND ALL THOSE PRAYERS. CONSTANTLY ARRIVING SIMULTANEOUSLY. DIFFERENT LANGUAGES, WHISPERED, MURMURED, EVEN SHOUTED OH GOD, MY GOD... LET ME WIN THE LOTTERY (I bet he gets that one all the time). MAKE MY CHILD WELL I NEED HER TO LOVE ME COULD WE HAVE STEAK TONIGHT? PLEASE LET IT BE YOUR WILL TO MAKE THIS BITCH PREGNANT (hmm, some of them even say please). I detect, I can see, He’s in sort of a frenzy. You know, one of those Act of God" moods; tornado-twisting, earth-shaking, hurricane havoc, wild-fire rampages that He goes on, every now and then. We continue to play cards. I get up to go to the fridge, (silently praying to find some beer, and bring two back for us.) He chugs his then crushes the can, effortlessly (Show-off). This time I deal, seeing how, He is too stressed to even shuffle the deck. Deuces Wild, I call. (By the way, I lost my shirt). Did you really think He could play without cheating? Wouldn't you? Out on the lake
the whitecaps leap, old lions shot in midair. Not far from the water I sit on a knoll and open your letter. You're in Sacramento now singing for money. Here in Chicago, on hot August nights, I lick in my dreams at the scoops in your shoulders. I prefer them to ice cream. In a week I'll fly out and salute your nipples. Long may your buttocks waggle and jounce. -Donal Mahoney I was in the city looking in a charity shop for some books to give as presents and found a CARSON MC’CULLERS THE HEART IS A LONLEY HUNTER for £1 which is something I want to give to all my family and fiends so had to get it. and as walked to counter felt a huge surge down below a very much liquid diarrhoea surge and walked in a very amusing way to counter and preyed they could serve me at once so as I could go to toilet and they did and had on trousers I noticed showed any kind of wetness up immediately and glaringly and wondered what hell would do if shit pants and how embarrassing it would be. so stood at side of counter holding legs together preying I could keep it in until book and receipt were given to me. I kind of ran after that to the nearest gents five minutes away. I could use. and felt angry when people got in my way. someone noticed the anxious look on my face and I looked at them and thought Christ I never hope you feel like I do. people seemed to be acting like they were out for a Sunday stroll even though it was a dull Saturday, at least for some. and I felt like I was just about to shit self with the wrong sort of pants on that show it all up, big time, like a poster boy. it was kind of about honour , I thought and how could I show my face up in this town again if had shit myself very publicly. I preyed a toilet would be vacant and one seemed to it was closed I preyed there was not someone in there who had forgotten to close the door. pulled down my easy to see if liquid has been spilled on them pants and preyed I was in time. the pulling down of the easy to see if you have shit yourself pants caused a chain reaction and it started coming out liquid style and I preyed it would not make it to the trousers that were easy to wear comfort linen pants that showed up big time if you shit yourself. I’d thought when putting them on hope I don’t shit myself today ! or it will really show and had had diarrhoea problems since taking up drink as a hobby. the dark liquid poured into my knickers and the floor and the walls and the toilet and everywhere it was like an atom bomb or just a bomb or me maybe deciding humanity was not really for me. I again preyed don’t hit the trousers and looked down my knickers were covered in a brown slim of smelly liquid my shoes my coat my belt and everywhere. my easy to spot diarrhoea sufferer trousers thankfully had seemed to be spared apart from at the back but I figured my longish winter coat if I got all wrapped up would cover that mess up. so I thought their must be a god and hoped it was a woman as most men and I definitely stunk when we had bad days out. in out of hospital. and I kind of wished for hospital and not public humiliation. with my mental health issues and my long standing drinking hobby. I started clearing up it was at the back of the toilet everywhere and I was saying oh fecking shit under my breathe and hoped the toilet paper would last and know one would hear me swearing as I did not agree with it. after I tried to clean up I figured my knickers were un wearable and could not work out how I would take them off and put them in bin outside without being seen. if I wore them they would colour the easy to see if you have shit yourself pants a shity colour. something had to be done you have to think quick like a spitfire pilot under attack by nazi scum. I worked out that I had to get my shoes off and then easily to see if you have shit yourself comfort linen trousers. ten you could maybe get the very wet dribbling diarrhoea pants off. I worked out that I would need to clean all the shit up from the floor in order to stop the shit from transferring to my trousers when I pulled them down and off. but I could not work out how I would carry the knickers to the bin without being seen or smelled subversion I thought trick them or maybe some form of subliminal hypnosis. then a voice let out you had an accident ? yes , I replied but I don’t really want to discuss it in a public environment. I’ll give you some spray and extra toilet paper thanks I said I sure do appreciate that and I had run out of toilet paper a long time ago so figured this could be a way forward. he threw them over the toilet door over the locked prison I was in. and said make sure you clean it all up. yes I have cleaned most of it up I said already. my body’s giving up I thought ! nothings working right even though I took drink up as a hobby because everyone ignores me. the blood puke the getting banned from some locals, the toilet problem that can not spoke off. I must be cursed I thought he’s telling me have I had an accident like I was a two year old not able to hold anything in. this feels like regressing I thought. over the locked prison I was in. and said make sure you clean it up. I did what I had to do the front of the linen trousers were stained a little but I figure3d the winter coat would hide the stains. I wondered if after this I could have a coffee without someone smelling. I had come up with a plan about the knickers wrap them in toilet paper then people may not realise they were shit covered knickers. maybe if I did it quick I thought people would not see. so I cleaned up with the spray goodness and wrapped the knickers in white toilet paper I figured it would take me 15 seconds to make it to the bin. I went out like a French resistance fighter thinking don’t see my dirty pants and someone came by and I am not sure if they saw my shit pants and I put them into the bin and remembered the message given to me from over the toilet door don’t forget to clean your hands after. and washed my hands several times. -Baz (one of the minor saints) Sleeps with her books
her cat her rhetoric imaginary men steal one at a time into her bedroom perfect men who stay lodged in her memory until well after she's awakened she's cool smokes and flirts dirty from the corners of her mouth suggesting she's more of a woman than a child we met over a plate of cocaine before christmas and swore we'd steal away to mexico and marry in the spring listening to the right bands and speaking philosophies nude on a couch pressed together like change in my pocket our secret incorporation intact coffee and scotch whisky made her the most amazing woman in the world for a while. Now she sleeps with her books her cat her rhetoric and an unending train of imaginary men none of whom are me. 10/6 in this style -Matt Crow |
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