Friday, June 28, 2002 :::
 

lint


ok ok the joke's gone far
enough all this metaphysical bullshit
is for the birds. nothing can predict
what will happen in 5 minutes
but if your are in the way when the cell of the


oh sorry.

i am beginning
to understand
why richard nixon taped himself again

another worry:the idea
of no actual existence but
one that might linger
in the data of the web
fragments of my kilroy poetry
found in the peasant
shacks of dsl connected
hard drives all working to preserve
every thwarted sensation.
but i wont even be alive to fuckin know it.

unless i'm reincarnated and my next life's
karma is to spend life vacantly searching
for signs of my last.


::: posted by hiccup at 9:45 PM


 
small choice in rotten apples

i'm not as fucked up as i think
delusional maybe,
but not too fucked up. i was with the walking wounded
tonight--as stacia says, welcome, we are
legion and us grrls talked bout love n stuff
but serious and honest given the way
pat's thing with young mike lasted 2 years and angie
sying we coulda told you but why bother,
with a south american clip in her voice, and then kim comin
in she is woman hear her roar not takin shit from no one no more
and this place is jeromes, but you can sit here, we'll just move him down
and the mtv awards are playin on the tv, stevie ray vaughn
on the psuedo hip ck player there's a magarita in my hand
and jerome walks in drunk as hell and flashin his dick in the form
of keys to a red porshe and a some kind of idenitfication tag from
st josephs hospital he swears, he's a financial
lawer and has accounts worth millions
and kim says yeh, that's honest
and he mentions his 5 condos
in a quickly fading to seed
cluster home developement on hanley road and says hey
baby do you wanna go to malios
right this minute,
cos he's seen a hunger in my eyes, i been starin
at the reuben across the way

and i give my phone number and tell him what the hell, call me
in a month.

now if i was flippant like claudia grimmel
or vaseline misted like that lyn
lifshin i wouldn't tell you woudn't let on
that i gave it to him because he is aquarius
and i'm a libra.





::: posted by hiccup at 9:28 PM



Thursday, June 27, 2002 :::
 
and the thunder outside sounds like the waves
over our head that first day at the beach
pulling us under and crashing us
into its swirling shell
fragments. surprising
me, delighting you, the ocean
slapped us around pushed us
into the sky, smacked our asses
when we tried to leave.
i've never liked roller coasters
but i always thrill on the back side
of waves and the power underneath
rollover finishes sliding my body to home to shore.
so what if sometimes i go under?

you scared me for a minute, how far out you went.
i don't know these waters in storm, i always
want the ground just a few inches below me.

a sublimation in the weather, cooling florida's
ephemerally massive humidity into the solid bulk
of storm rolled, as us, all day. i cried and cried
and you punched and punched and we both
felt better at times. why this now,
why the thunder
across the sky?

remember the story , how one time
i sat there on the deck as lightning
moved closer, a dance across the face
of many storms out over the water,
how i sat there alone, while he was sleeping
and i felt a power enough to change
the weather? to bring
the lightning to me for immolation
i was sure i didn't want. or maybe you don't. i told you
a lot of things that weekend. i can imagine

your head
spinning in the effort to take it in
and then you smoked
some pot! no wonder
you crashed.


i better go roll up my windows, a car
is not cheap.

::: posted by hiccup at 2:29 PM

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Any poem posted here is allowed to be edited by anybody here. No need to save the original version for comparison. Any final poems are considered the joint product of anyone who helped work on it. The conglomerate name for this amorphous ''poet'' consisting of the dabbling hands of every originator and editor is, let's say, ''Phylicia Drabble.''