#drunkpoetrycircle

[heatthief]

this here poem thing.

this poem is an effort at sanity, adrift in so much utter calamity. it is a reverse prayer to the gods and a question asked of the planets. this poem is built from steel, and steam and flame, and cheese too. this poem does not ask permission, it tells permission, gently, to FUcKing fuck off. these poem makes me think of water, of the oceans. of all that water. this poem reminds me to sing in places where I would normally be so silent, this poem doesn't pretend to be anything more than it is. this poem is absolutely everything. this particular line itself carries more weight than the moon. during one season this poem was inhabited by thousands of green ants and they used it to float down a river that was really a stream from a sewer runoff. this poem has never been on time to a single class, not one. this poem beat up the bullies in grade school and gave all the kids their lunch money back. this poem holds up my pants when I forget to wear a belt and holds me up when I'm too tired to stand any longer. and just think, I wrote it for you.

[heatthief]

mulberry tree

there are mulberries on the branches of the tree across the street.

a car revs its way up the narrow street; my narrow street. it is bright red and it carries Joann who babysat me through grade school. she reeked of womanhood, long even before she stopped being a girl.

it is dawn. even the leaves are still hungover. they whisper amongst themselves and vomit dark berries. the birds here have been singing since 330 am. i am surprised but glad for the company and for the tune.

dawn can be a lonely time. it has before appeared to me as a slowly rising gray hell, the ashes of a cigarette burning in reverse. i have said many strange things at dawn. i once asked my brother if he had been born ahead of me or before.

one cigarette left in the pack is grinning at me like one tooth left in a lunatics mouth. things will cease to make sense here very shortly.

i hear a lawnmower try to start. i hear footsteps outside this apartment. i try not to picture deformed dwarves stalking the hallway, try not to envision police with a warrant. all i have left is this. starting over at life again and again and again, each time crushed by the piano of disappointment in my self.