Clears His Throat...

This blog will be for my poetry and short stories. I don't consider them very good, but it feels good to release them anonymously. If I'm lucky I'll get some constructive critism, which is always appreciated. I like experimenting with poetry and writing, so there will be some wacky stuff posted. I won't be reblogging other people's poetry here, however I do very much enjoy reading other poetry and reblog often on my primary account. I hope you enjoy.

[weekofends-blog]

There once was a man from Damascus Who traveled to here just to ask us To loan him some gold His oil was sold For him all was lost in Damascus 

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There are only a Handful of presidents I would trust with my kids

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Fat Stack Bracket

Being wealthy is A chemotherapy bill Before groceries

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Sugar crumbs

Horny rung out on a porcelain line To dry off, to get despised off Alter occasion every time an angel Gets its wings, beneath them the little Palm reaching and pickling under The charismatic moon that's drunk Us into hiccup giggles and lighting Buildings on fire in the early morning bruise

[weekofends-blog]

Deportation

Send them all back home Before we learn to listen Before we can grow

[weekofends-blog]

Dr. McCoy

I’m convinced you’re an animal.

I’m the one with blue fur I know

 blue thighs, blue nostrils, irises, 

pubic hair all blue! I appreciate a good

brush of my fangs, and how you scream 

diversions when I slurp up someone’s cat. 

But I shed on your bed. 

I can’t help thinking, 

“Are you planning on making me into boots?" 

I know you’re crafty - I know you saw 

Martha Stewart do it. I didn't see it in color 

but I can smell your heat! Does that not gross you out? 

You should be sickened! 

I am grotesque. 

I don’t grow fur for you. 

Did you think these claws are fun? 

That I love matted hair?

Licking scraps off the floor?

 I’m an x-man god dammit! 

I’m registered to vote! 

I have a W2! You can’t even drive stick. 

I drive airplanes!

[weekofends-blog]

Phil Misprinted Today’s Editorial and Jan Hit A Stop Sign, Again

Bells of the open and close                                                                                   door chime, the neat tides of                                       Pagliai's Pizzeria on any evening.                                                        Young puppy lovers,                                                                                       elderly couples alone,                                                                              grecian siblings                                                                  limp-eyed and giggling.                                                                                When they’re alone,surrounded by vacant booths,he likens her to an anchovy, asleep on their thin crust pizza.                                                                         She takes a drink, too long,                                                                               and chews a mouthful of ice.He explains the tiny fish is sleek,                shimmering inside or out of its native waters.She's unconvinced.                         "It's also greasy. Dead and greasy."                                                            Neither wants to pay. Both do.

The door dings them adieu.                                                                                The Midwestern sky is crystalline,                                                                        a castellatus blue-silver that droops                                                                    like crumbling brick.                                                                                   Beneath it they zip                                                                                            their coats and huddle. He clips his adam's apple.                                        Their sidewalk turns to gravel                                                                          then disappears completely.                                                                 Construction trucks and                                                                                   cranes leer up ahead; the neighborhood expanding.                                           "Is that wet?"                                                                                                         a pearly pool of concrete possibility.                                                           Grinning, he tells her to watch as he crouches                                                      to pen the patch.                                                                                              She ignores him,                                                                                                  is her own author.  Before the marinating is complete,                                   they scrub their fingers in the grass - sink away, empty handed.

They drift up and down                                                                                       the Iowa River, lethargic.                                                                                 They cross a bridge, and                                                                                 again, greet the alternating                                                                 incandescent and fluorescent flames,                                                                   a dozen lamp posts bend,widen twist and meld on the slick                                 river - the creasy mirror.                                                                                   They enjoy the blue angles, orange angles.                                                       Her hands are gelid. The                                                                                   hills funnel the wind, licking                                                                              their eyelids.                                                                                                    They squeeze and gut the                                                                          warmth out of each other, walking in a lopsided                                        unison. Their warmth becomes solicitous.                                                      Inside their stride far in the night                                                                      they appear to glisten.

[weekofends-blog]

Loss in A Minor

Her sincerity marble tower

broke me off my feet

I crawled for miles to prove my worth

but passed out on the street

No, I never touched the tower

I swear sat 'tween the clouds

But when I regained troubled thoughts

She'd booked me into town

That motel was alive and well

Born of prudent rush

Brink insighted consecration

Always promised much

Fruit was always lush

And sounds were always hushed

Between the growing spheres of black

Where gravity resigned

Pulling like medieval nuns

My air was never mine

Desperate for an empty door

I grabbed I thought was mine

Spilling water onto fire

Just as it turned to wine

With a roar of murder, based upon

My rebuttal I thought nice

I stumbled from that coughing room

Following the mice

Never will I find that stray

He's left me with the soot

Once awhile I think of her

When I want back my foot

[weekofends-blog]

Good Night Vietnam

The Genie's dawn strikes, slowly Border first the outing spring Become alive with a fiery thing No sun nor rain knowing mana fully Bring to peace a mated King For whom fortune waits In the sky of gates Apprehend the inspired ring Withered echoes chanting soul

[weekofends-blog]

Reassurance Insurance

Wait! Before you go You should know The blisters on your fingers Are not from pulling weeds Sowing seeds Or reaping deeds No, they are bardic notches! Each a proof of purchase

[weekofends-blog]

The Laugh

She was a lark on my bedside From her perch she could see all As glow grew dim in darkening light She made her soundless call At once a world between us Too dark to find the door When dawn struck amber arrows I, dumbfounded, found I was leagues from shore Adrift, adrift, my body is safe He crumbles like sand, my spirit Sun-cracked flesh, the salt water chaff My core, he dies softly, longing for land Oceans are beautifully lonely things

[weekofends-blog]

Mono Color Ads

SINGLE MAN LOOKING AT WOMEN Between 5'11" and 6'2" Must be blonde Natural or otherwise C cups and up Natural or otherwise WARNING: there WILL be measurements taken Must weigh MINIMUM of one standard deviation below average Dress quickly LONELY MAN SEEKING FEMALE COMPANION Preferably between 2'3" and 7'4" Hair important Must like music and watching movies Must enjoy eating food and drinking drinks affectionate a bonus Must have growing fingernails Must be in or out of tune with nature Must be able to handle housework Homework, travelwork and handiwork Absolutely has to be accommodating WOMAN INTERESTED IN SINGLE MALE Just looking for a nice guy Good with children a major plus! Non-smokers, please

[weekofends-blog]

Spools of Thread

She's lightning, or a fox Unpredictable, untied Untamed and untampered with Photogenic, Sharp, Electric and powerful A little scary, yeah Very weary Of others, a snap And she's gone Leaving only the hope She'll strike twice

[weekofends-blog]

A Bomb Shelter Built for Two

I stand by most of what I said Though something's wrong inside my head There's a truth behind the dreams A vivid tale of worlds unseen A world filled with blind farmers Rent charmers, merry martyrs I think there's even a place for me Between the bushes and up a tree In truth I love her just and true In spite of all the things I'll do Scream and fight without a swing I'm ambidextrous with words and things I cut along the dotted lines I'd think I feel better But it's just a lost spine Spent today outdoors with nature Runnin from the nomenclature Run in with my ex was rude Ended up in the nude I was a lanky spider A well dressed Cretan Concrete tears dry well with time Leaving layers of wasted prime All that's left upon the line Is a grubby tale, and a harder mind Can't kill ya Might chill ya But its the weather, not a requiem Untied and untamed Bottled sparkling champagne shame You and I in a colosseum Armor plates and spears to feel 'em Can we turn onto the crowd Or will the chanting stay this loud? I'm in if you are Let's fake a spar Slay the sound Make for the car I'm not so sure we're clear and safe So we're back where we began You're a women, I'm a man And that's the whole of our master plan

[weekofends-blog]

Do you hear that? No, not that, the... What is that? It's like a buzzing? 'Bzzzzzzz zzzzzzzz Can you hear it now? Good, for a second I thought I was losing it. But I just might if we don't stop whatever it is. It's definitely coming from your right side 'BZZZZZZZZZ What do you think? Not high-pitched enough to be a fly... Maybe a bee, swinging back and forth Just above your shoulder? BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ or a big mosquito I'm talking sucks blood from a bendy straw big Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzit Aha! I found it! It's was just a little yellow jacket wasp, if you can believe it! You... You don't see it? Huh... I guess it was in your head, The entire time, Buzzing around me

[weekofends-blog]

Who am I? - Meant to be Spoken Aloud

Who am I?

Am I who you see?

Am I who you perceive me to be?

Who am I?

Who is "me"?

Can I meet me?

If so, why haven't I met me yet?

Or has me been avoiding me?

Who am I?

Am I a compilation of

Everything I've ever spoke, texted, tweeted

Snap-chatted and Facebook added?

Who was it for?

Am I like a swamp monster of social media

Bubbling restlessly, immersed in tumblr posts

And Instagram selfies?

Who is that, if it's not me?

What am I?

Am I just universal particles

Accidentally coalesced into a lineage of me?

Am I just the air I breath, the sun I feel

Or the wounds that never healed?

Am I a picture on your graduation board

Nothing more than a memory, a thing of fading lore?

Am I a like a movie screen

For others to project their idea of me

Until there is no escape from the convoluted scenes?

Am I that projected mask that was cast from

Another's eye of me?

What is in that eye? Is it I?

What am I?

If there are an infinite number of 

Parallel universes stacked like a

Deck of cards,

What is I?

Multiple mes, we've all agreed

This is stranger than it at first seemed

Before we get too jealous of me

Sweep us into a dustpan, please.

Who am I?

What I see inside?

But what is inside, if not the outside

Internalized?

What do I see inside?

Sunrise? Chariot races? A golden falcon swooping with death on his side?

No.

I don't see any homage. Only flaws

Imagine the New York Stock Exchange

Before the computer

There is nothing but screaming, and well-dressed outlaws

Why do they cry out?

What makes them want to cheat and die?

Why do I cry with them?

Are they me, is this how it's supposed to be?

Terrifying, electrifying, sanity unwinding and person defining?

Why am I?

Because my mother's love?

Because my father's lack thereof?

Because of my house?

My race? My size?

The heroes I idolize?

Whatever I happen to prize?

Why do I prize everything, anything but I?

Why am I?

Am I here to heal?

Or to just kind of, lie around?

Am I here to kill, be killed, take pills or pick up a specific skill?

Can I do what they, them, he or she is doing?

Does that make me them?

Or can I be more than just a me?

Can I find life outside of destiny?

Where me meets my mind

When there is more than enough time

Why did I try and standardize

Myself with lies? Try to crucify I?

Who is there left to truly criticize

If I am me and we are fine with all mankind?

Who I am is who I've been, who I've found and who I will see. All three complete the illusive "me".

Now...

Who are you?

[weekofends-blog]

Blind and Restless

As eager as my legs can be Bound, my mind is, to false eternity Order by blueprint of a Homeless House, that Will always be built  With the finest sand Hands pound on and on Fingers that linger Fading every time you reach And withdraw time to focus  Why not spend an unscheduled night To bring back with you, a keyhole of sight