Scribbles 'n Bits

Tag: original poetry

  • h i h

    Now and then?  
More like: 

all the time,

everywhere,

all at once. 

That sounds like
the most British thing 
I've heard.
The only thing, 
honest, 
and you should be
honest.
 
Tell me how to get
there
and I swear to you,
by sould,
by blood,
by iron,
we leave. 

Well, did you find
a bowl or not?
Have you lost your mind?
Your head sloshes
full of soup.
Consider that,
your eye 
half eaten by the falcon,
Horus.  
Maggots wriggling about
the lens - 
have you no shame? 
Nothing to see here,
not since I lost my eye,
after all.

  • Cheap talk

    What does that even mean?
You cannot have your cake
and have it eaten too. 
It takes two to tango, 
honey,
and talk is cheap. 
So, I speak by the hour,
and pass collection 
when the hook penetrates
your soft, upper palate.

  • While In

    Subverting patience
one expectation at a time.
I like to weaponize 
existentialism - 
it’s my kink.
I don’t even like the music,
I just know you
like me for listening. 
What a ball,
a beautiful wedding. 
So pulls the oxen 
on cart. 

Pardon me a moment
while I spiral 
out of control here.

  • Tri Cyclic

    I did nothing
but watch
helpless
as the young
of my generation,
the gifted
and beautiful,
trapped themselves
in the same 
dead ends 
we hated the old
for wasting their
lives on.

I’m sorry.

  • Welcoming

    From birth
your time, 
they say,
will come.

Your family 
excited,
the papers,
you sign.
Guns flare. 

The uncles, 
the grandads,
the fathers - 
those left - 
they say, 
your time 
will come.

You sign,
they cheer,
you fight,
they boo.
Your war 
will come.

  • Requiem

    It becomes a dream
you share. 
The first to wake up
leaves.

  • The Sons of Laocoon

    Please, good 
hatred, 
I crave your amnesty’s 
desire.

I live 
without rent due 
anytime this month - 
seek me.
 
On occasion, 
the one 
she missed;
less often
each day. 

Who taught her those 
things, yes, 
you like. 
Much obliged. 

Her sculpture, an
idle thing to
revere - 
an idea

molded to 
life
scrape by
harrowing scrape.

Her best image,
a stampede alight, oh
alright.

Cherish her, I
could not.
Keep her, 
you could not.
Try.

  • The Process x River People

    Settling my hand
on a bur oak’s 
bare chest. 
Flailing distantly 
for the giving reach
and feeling encouragement 
from limestone
crevices beneath -
I leap. 
Hints of living
where fish
swarm in silver darts
for lunch
and never hunger.
She holds enough.
They have two children
in thick, wool hats.
A transparent bond
below a howling dog’s
wounded voice
caroling softly 
across the bristling stones.
    More here!

  • Limón

    Sometimes, 
if only cherries
had a kiss. 
Sprouting 
endearing pestilence. 
Most, yes - 
alright - 
all
of the time, 
I’d rather 
have lemons’
early dew.

    in the soft torrential curls that
    pool at the base
    in that fresh morning milk
    comes the caustic awakening
    sonrojo en su sonrisa
    the same flavor as sunrise

    I’d rather 
tener palos para
construir una cabaña.
I’d like you to
scratch my chest,
claw at the limbs,
burn from the roots,
and watch my fruit



fall.
    In collaboration with Caitlyn Salinas. My deepest gratitude and respect.

  • Could Never Pretend

    I am not the carbon copy,
but rather the rough
suffocating diamonds.
In these dank caves,
nothing comes through -
signals upon waves
upon kilojoules of pixels.
Time to turn off the news.