the grass is always neon
on the other side
said the rich man to the poor
he is a glutinous water jug
his hands and feet are swollen & wet
it is in his DNA he says
he wrings his hands like a wash cloth
and slurps his nonwork
into importance
(importance
is so close
to impotence)
the experts say there is no way to know
so we lay defeated
breathing in conspiracy
i think i remember you
faithful forgotten friend
what was your name
again i wish i remembered
a way to say that there is
something wrong with subjectivity
but how can one argue
with their own brain
this perpetual rain
i bite my lips until they bleed
those red red lips are all i need
poison apples and perfection
this is true deflection
what we’re told to heed
the truth at the bottom
is the apples are rotten
keep on wishing at the well
i’ll never tell
and someday you’ll be forgotten.
freedom of speech is dead
due to the infrared invasion
of our lives’ equation
all hail this wiretapped haven
and god bless america
(writing this made me nervous,
that’s how i know it’s true).
parental advisory
explicit content
put the labels on
our bodies
under our clothes
for we’ve made
our own nature
naughty.
It’s not
because of people
but because of power
that piss
is preached
from the pulpit
And it stretches
my heart
quite
uncomfortably
knowing
just knowing
the way the world
has worked
it’s little fingers
into traps
to catch
“the chaff.”
You were a hundred kinds of beautiful
like all the girls on TV
and oh so plain in your unanimity
until you opened your mouth
and explained one thousand ways to be
pleasure upon pleasure
a sight like a dying queen
rouge cheeks to the end
so much polish it’s painful
or maybe that just
my internal green monster
but it is not a lie
that the angles of your cheeks cut
your bright eyes blind
and I’m struck
for I can’t remember
the most beautiful person
I’ve ever chanced to see
I only possess a half-devoured idea
of the feeling, turning brown
like the core of an apple
but this
this I know
I’ve never seen
a more beautiful sight
than someone helping
a white-haired widow
across a road
____
Part of a series I did where somewhere would tell me an idea for a poem and I would write it. The idea: The most beautiful person I ever met.
When I grow
every day
I hope that the world
will begin to know
About response
responsibility
instead of
nothing nonsense
This is not up to
the world though
it is effort
by me by you
Every action
every word
lending knowledge
breaking down faction
Shunning power
holding love
close
acting in your hour
This is up to
me you
I’ve noticed recently how many really great website start-ups there are, especially using a subscription or invite-only method. This is such a fascinating technique and I believe it to be used very well, especially in creating marketing prestige (For example: Everlane, where you have to be approved and can earn rewards by inviting friends; Pinterest, which is invite only; Lookbook.nu, also invite only; and so on).
Along those lines, I found another start-up which is so exciting. It’s called The Listserve. This isn’t so exclusive, but there is an incentive to join. And what an amazing social experiment as well!
Although we have used our new-found technology in a lot of unproductive ways, I’m still in love with the ways we are continually finding to expand our view of the world and how we connect with other people. I know I joined Listserve when I heard of it, to have to opportunity to have an e-mail sent to a large group of people would be crazy exciting and to hear what others might say is equally exciting. With the colliding of so many different cultures and peoples in the recent world, it is imperative that we learn how to understand each other, reconciling differences and throw away any malice we might hold towards different ways of life. I hope this project, created by three New York University graduate students, will be able to help this along. It is, at least, exciting to see the tracks being laid down.
poempusher 