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Monday, 28 September 2009

  • per-cep-tion (n.). a poem

    per-cep-tion (n.)

     

    there is an infinite number of dimensions

    parallel to our own

    where we have made different decisions

    and where we exist in a

    completely different place

    surrounded by

    completely different people

    and it goes on and on, as intricate and delicate

    as a silky spider’s web.

     

    but it’s all theoretical, and it all boils down

    to perception.

    we exist because we acknowledge the fact

    that we are real.  shit, I could be a giraffe if

    I saw myself as a giraffe

    and truly believed

    that I was a giraffe.

    or if you saw me as a giraffe

    lo! I might stand tall

    and eat leaves from the trees.

    but we’ve hospitalized so many for

    such madness of thought.

     

    and tonight, a sad song hangs solemn and dismal

    as the clock radio sends minutes

    off to

    the slaughter.  but the grief is transcended

    by bravado.  and so I shift the lamp shade

    and watch the shadows swing

    and dance.

     

    we are the real magicians of this world,

    arranging words and deciphering meaning,

    brushing artificial color and basking

    in the radiance

    unearthed.

     

    and for my last trick, I’ll need a volunteer…

    yes, you there, gaze now into the mirror

    and tell everyone what comes to meet you.

    ah, yes, and close your eyes, for today you live on,

    but feel now underneath,

    for as we speak, your reflection lay dead

    on the satin of your coffin.

     

Thursday, 03 September 2009

  • three months. a poem

    three months.

     

    loneliness and

    solitude

    I differentiate between the two

    so that I might

                           hang from the                 latter

    with bleeding fingers clenched                             and

    breathing winds too fragile to catch my                           fall

     

    the autumn air is crisp and sweet

    I pity the poor souls

    who

    fell

    into the                         first      ?


Tuesday, 01 September 2009

  • California girls. a poem

    California girls.

     

    I can’t leave the house anymore

    without falling

    in love.

     

    short skirts and

    long summers.  those

    lovely California

    girls.

     

    warm eyes, untamed

    beauty.  smiles shooting

    the most glorious

    venom.

     

     those lovely

    California girls

    will be the death

    of me.

     

    blood rush and

    face flushed with

    color.  the sunlight

    of morning redefining

    the artwork of

    radiant eyelids.

     

    what a glorious

    masterpiece, the

    immaculately painted

    canvas

    of such a lovely

    California girl.

     

Friday, 21 August 2009

  • one day, and the next. a poem

    one day, and the next.

     

    October blew in with an audacity

    seeking to shake the kids.

    the winds and early darkness

    took root and

    took hold of the days

    until everyone had lost themselves

    somewhere between seasons

    and promised to convene

    once again on the

    other side of the sun.

    and as the masses fled, I watched

    from a darkening window.

    rummaged the hallway closet

    for a jacket.  dusk rushed in

    as the door opened and I

    faced a street as endless as

    the planet’s rotation.  and intention

    as ambiguous as mine.

                I walked and glanced upward

    only periodically to stare on as the

    evening hours extracted the colors

    painted so meticulously

    by the sun’s sweeping waves

    on his slow rise

    and descent.

    half a mile and the flickering bulbs

    of the streetlights struggled

    to unwrap themselves from

    the night’s veil.  ahead, a couple

    walking towards me.   others, as

    selfish as I and as disappointed as I  

    to find an inhabitant on this night,

    walking towards me.

    just shapes of the night

                pressing on.

                I slowed my cadence slightly

    as to meet them under the glow

    of the streetlight.

    it seemed proper.  and the night released

    them from its tight grasp.  a couple, together,

                facing the wreckage.  validating the remains.

                my gaze latched onto the ambassadors

    of night.  his eyes sharp, cutting a path through twilight.

    such anger in the subtleties

    of his movement.  and her,

    eyes brimming with tears as the breeze whipped

    at her collar.  and they were carried on.

    in the dying smolder of the lamplight I stopped.

    only half a mile. and the morning still

    had to make its rounds before

    it fell upon

    the western hemisphere.  the steps

    were numbered as were the hours

    until the artist sat at easel

                once again.  

Tuesday, 18 August 2009

  • runner's feet. a poem

    runner’s feet.

     

    the office is always cold

    even in the summer’s peak

    a goddamn ice box

    and a sign on the wall

    “God does the healing, the doctor

    takes the fee”

    twenty dollars co-pay,

    some other places it’s

    only fifteen

    maybe I’m paying for

    a subscription to the

    home and garden magazines

    certainly not for the ambiance

    I’m there because of my toe

    it’s swollen and red

    it hurts to run

    and I want to run

     

    “looks like an infection”

    he says

    “I had a patient

    a couple weeks ago

    that had a similar

    infection, but on his

    left buttock”

    he says

     

    “no shit”

     

    he’s so happy. it’s all

    smiles with

    this guy.

    “yes, and he’s

    an accountant. he can’t sit

    at his desk, it hurts

    so bad”

     

    “can he sit down

    to take a shit?”

     

    “no, but the funny

    thing is, he

    can run”

    he says

     

    a true comedian

    after all, laughter

    is the best

    medicine

     

    my insurance better cover

    these antibiotics.

    the side effects

    include swelling of

    the throat

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heathreedy

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    • Name: Heath
    • Birthday: 1/6/1992
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    • Member Since: 7/20/2008

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  • so many times i wish i would have stayed awake to watch the night turn to day. that minute of twilight is what i'm craving.