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Vote for the best PAIR of poems.

Disjoint Act II

If you keep quiet and listen
you can make out the tune;
the sweeping murmur of indifference
is the background symphony
to your prosaic solo.

Stop gazing at the clock...
it shows only the second.
Acceptance isn't resignation;
this stage is your house,
but it'll never be your home.

He nods along to your lines;
the Midas in the balcony,
but he hasn't heard a word.
Behind that horn rimmed gaze
he's still staring at your breasts.

The unorthodox umbilical salvation
whisper patience is a virtue
but anger is a gift.
Stop yearning for the destination
before you've understood the journey.


1995; the Sacramento River is running in reverse.
Trees are undressing into the water.
I have faux fur tied below my chin and a chequered tweed jacket drawn up to my cheeks.
There’s a hand reaching between clouds with a whisky jug,
God pours life into death and death into life without spilling a drop.
I am fishing for convalescence in a mirror with filtered moonlight and ripples.
I am fishing with broken Lyre strings and a baitless hook.
I am Orpheus and she is my Eurydice

or I am Osamu and she is my Yukiko.
I am cross-legged with a pen and paper
and a page full of ghosts scraping the riverbed below me.
I am bathing in the ethereal glow of headlights as drops of amber
streak my skin and soften my lips.
I am fishing for ataraxy through thunder and rain.
I am fishing with both hands numb and gripping too tightly.
I am Michelangelo and she is my Vittoria Colonna

or I am Christopher McCandless and she is my Solace.
I am fishing for a Rosetta Stone to a language cacophonic and endless,
blinding and deafening, all-consuming and destructive,

or I am Polythemus and she is my Galatea.

Untitled (BOOBS 2)

A woman’s face is a thing of beauty far
removed from the barrel of a gun. They
often opt instead to preserve themselves
with pills, because beauty is bolder than
a blaze of glory.

When it is time to say goodbye, I will
stray from what’s expected and paint
the ceiling red if only just to show that
we’re all ugly inside-out.

Real Characteristics and Poetry Real Men Shouldn't Show

The radio says its summertime,
I wish it wasn't lying and I wish it wasn't morning,
Everythings winding down to an end,
as everything should.
She can't stand to hear my voice,
and I completely understand.
For the first time,
I really get it.

It's not that I regret anything,
What most people regret is what makes them who they are,
And i'm pretty happy with myself,
I think I turned out pretty good,
There's nothing to complain about really,
But when I talk to my friend Jack he'll help me find something.

Why are women beautiful?
The same reason men are naturally ugly,
to even the odds,
at least they've got something on us,
I've learned not to let it get to me.
I wish...
I don't even know,
Maybe I need a cigarette,
but I don't want one,
God, I wish I knew.

I've got so many wishes,
but there isn't a well in sight,
and the stars aren't falling,
Not yet,
at least not tonight,
when I need it most,
I need something,
A women maybe,
but that would just lead to drinking,
and that would just lead to crying,
and then by tomorrow I would be praying for some kind of cancer.
The same things that put me through hell,
and I always come running to them when I smell the smoke,
It never fails.
I never failed,
I want to be like the things I hate to love,
on my bed looking at me with deep blue eyes,
seeing something I can't,
tearing me apart with an everlasting smile,
at least thats how it seems
Thats the only way I'll remember.
A damn shame she fell for me,
A damn shame I can't remember anything wrong with her.
The only thing wrong with her was me.

Well here's to blood and money,
Here's to cigarettes and whiskey,
Here's to the downtrodden and outnumbered,
Here's to the man on the corner with a cardboard sign,
Here's to the kid at the pool hall being hustled by his brother,
Here's to the rich man that no one loves,
Here's to the rebellious teenager burning rubber in my yard,
This ones for us.
All of us that ever felt like we should be something we're not,
If we can get off our knees long enough to take another shot,
because obviously the last one didn't do its job.
I hate whoever did that.
Drop another coin in the slot, and I will tell you more...