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Vote for the best PAIR of poems.

Three Witnesses, Two Swinging Doors, and One Wooden Floor

I want to be like the rude people at restaurants.
The kind that yell at the waiters,
To demand their food be taken back.
They must have it real good,
Feeling all powerful like that,
I miss that feeling.

Power,
I only had it when I held her,
Now I only get it when I drink,
I don’t drink to forget like many,
I drink because it feels good,
And because it pisses people off.

Maybe that girl wants a light,
But probably not,
She'd probably say something like,
“Sorry, I have a boyfriend. He’s 6’2,
And He’ll break your dick off you ****ing
Slime bag faggot.”
Well than why the hell did you say sorry?
Don’t apologize to me that you’re in a good mood,
I didn’t apologize to you for being arrogant,
So I expect the same.

It’s been a night like my pool cue,
Long, useless, and broken in two.
That might just be my bravado dying,
It dies like a phoenix, dancing as it falls.
Poor thing, I’m the only one to know,
It didn’t leave behind any ashes.

“Hey waiter, would you mind taking this back,
They overcooked my steak.”


The King Of Hearts

I'd been dealt into the hand of Socrates,
constantly putting up with his calico teachings
and down with the choicest of appetent wines.
Fully devoted but hardly divine
I'd stolen from the poor to buy myself time,
then ordered the whole deck to fall into line.
I'd sharpened the sicle to soften the blow,
feigned deepest regret for what had to be done.

I'd jumped from atop a canopy
to convince myself of what's skin deep,
and that all true patterns will agree
among two points of symmetry.
I'd tightened the stitches bonding me
to the promises I'd failed to keep,
and had built this city from within
only to find it's walls were paper thin.
So in the end all that I'd given my queen
were two flowers and one reason to weep.



Untitled

Cheated by his own poison.

Wine cooler is shattered on the floor.
I’m lying on the sofa,
my feet, legs and arms
are sprawled in every possible direction.
We’re a vestige of a bad dinner party.

There’s a beautiful woman on the floor,
I hope she’s not unconscious.
There’s a beautiful woman in my head,
I hope she’s not too lonely.

I can’t sit up so I’ll idle in watching the chandelier.
It’s modern, not even a proper one.
A few adjustable metal poles and light bulbs
stuck onto the end of each, bent into an arachnid shape.

She walks over.
I think there are too many bottles on the table.
My body knows there are too many bottles on the table.
Seventeen glasses on the floor.

It's a shame I'm dead tonight.


ODE TO THE STREETS

I am sorry, sexless street person...
As they wipe their boots, on your naked breasts;
and warm you with flak, nicotine and fuming
and retreat with practiced haste, lest
they suddenly discover that you're also human.

I am sorry, sexless street person...
For those unfurled claws, which cannot touch;
which have no size, yet anything would fit,
and live in reruns, as again you clutch
cold indifference, and smears of spit.

I am sorry, sexless street person...
For the pious profits and perfect peers
on whom your cataract gaze still lingers,
and you vaguely recall, the frozen tears
shed for a world, that you cannot finger.

I am sorry, sexless street person...
But they've already judged, your bulging innocence
and congratulations on it being a *****;
Thank their philanthropy...in your defense,
the gutter can care for plenty more.

I am sorry, sexless street person...
As the manicured fingers and cologned hands,
rape you of both, identity and name,
and your crimson shame just stands
as plastic pieces of a patent game.

I am sorry, sexless street person...
Because you clutch you life in that paper bag,
and make a mattress of shredded dreams;
for the untiring existence, you try to drag
from the sympathy of holy machines.

I am sorry, sexless street person...
For the pious preachers and prayers of the Lord
who zealously command the shouldn't and the should;
You're not the sons of a lesser God...
You're the bastards of the Greater Good.

I am sorry, sexless street person...
And I'm sure, you are too.
Last edited by bassbeat77 at Jun 18, 2008,