Contemplative Poetry...

I
always wondered...

can
you
clean up
a
mess

or
just
hide
it
?



Yes, very over-intellectual.

Poems

everything

sound it out
ev-er-ey-thing
four syllables
there are four elements too
but those are obsolete
and nobody cares
not one bit
----------------------------
depend

everything
depends
on everything

it takes two to tango
if you had three people
it would be a threego
or some crap like that
----------------------------
steroids

you ever see
a hulky guy
lumbering his way
down the cracked concrete
path

on the streets
he pushes
some innocent passerby
why is he angry

four fused rings
is the chemical structure
generally speaking
of a steroid
-----------------------------
it does that to you

hate pushes
a blunt knife
at the surface of the drum

pop

too late
to save you now

Awake, But Still Screaming

I woke up, choked back a scream, a yell, some kind of exclamation of surprise, the kind you get when you just woke up from a dream that made you feel like everybody was trying to kill you and that they were damn good at it. Which was what I had just done, woken up from a bad dream, a bad, bad dream. I’d always been paranoid, but this was just too much, you know, when you can feel the pointy silver tips of the knives poking but not penetrating your skin, just waiting for the chance, for you to let down your guard, so that they can pounce, you know, just jump on you and stab and stab ‘til you’re just a mess, a bloody mess sprawled out on the floor waiting for some poor janitor to come around a say to himself, ay, dío, que lástima. Then he calls the cops and the ambulance, but, you know, they’re out to get you, too, so all you can do is lie there in pain and wait for the pigs to come and finish the job with semi-automatics or something like that. Anyways, that’s the kind of dream I woke up from, it was pretty scary, usually I’m just being chased by aliens. But these were humanoid and most definitely earthlings and most definitely out to get me. Get me good, you know, all out to get me and get me good.

It was pitch black like the souls of the people, 2 o’clock in the morning. I had work tomorrow so I decided that I’d better go to bed, you know, I didn’t want to come to work all tired, rubbing my eyes, my tie out of place, and my shirt not fully tucked in, with people giving me those looks out of the side of their eyes, criticizing me with their peripheral vision and in the whispered conversations they had while I was walking past. I lumbered downstairs like a five hundred pound drunk guy with balance issues in his cerebellum, I almost tripped somewhere around three times. I was going downstairs to get something I knew would help me go back to sleep, you know how it is, warm milk and cookies soothe you like nothing else. I walked into the kitchen and flicked on the light, and he was standing there. I shook my head, he can’t be back, he’s dead. I looked down at the floor and then nervously and slowly bent my neck back to a normal position, he wasn’t there anymore. Memories following me around like a sick puppy begging for food. I gave my milk and cookies to the puppy and went to bed.