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Tag Archives: originalpoetry.org

Some Thoughts from Today

Bob’s son is dead, his world ended a few days ago,

But he was at work today.

He looked at me and said How are you Marco,

and I didn’t really have a reply, Because

The unliving Eyes of striped bass

and rainbow trout

bore holes in the back of my head.

It stank like fish blood.

I wonder what is happening in Trinidad right now,

it’s a weird thing to wonder about

Because as far as my concern goes,

Everyone there

Doesn’t even exist.

To me, wage slaves in Thailand or China

are just a great bargain at K-Mart.

But what am I to those slaves,

who put the stitches in my clothing?

Do they think absently about Paterson,

and ponder How was Marco’s day?

Because their’s

was hen bu Hao!

The world is a psychopath,

so watch where you put those fingers and toes

And Don’t trust anyone

you wouldn’t piss in front of.

About these ads

Warning (seriously)

Don’t stare too long into the eyes of a dead fish.

they start staring back,

And you won’t like what you see


Cheer up, Marco

the world is beating me up

and i’ve had enough :(


John Faa of Dunbar (nomad song-Westward Ho)

Meet the nomads of America,

the misfits of our race

the ones who ride on rails in boxcars

Carrying Lives

from place to place.

Meet the ones

Who stick out thumbs,

Gypsies of the high plains

and Roma tribes of Oregon.

The state fair circus folk

with peculiar tattooed faces,

Staring through the sunburnt haze

into the depths

of outer space.

The carny girls

who pass through town

and band van drifters

who just don’t

stick around…

it’s something that we

have never had,

but i guess that’s all it really is;

just a different type of being sad,

the hunted vagabond kid.

the loneliness of the road,

the freedom of the wanderer,

the empty absence of a home-

but at times i think,

Fuck it let’s go,

Pack my shit

and

Westward Ho.


For all the Deli Girls in the Struggle (brighter days will come.)

Oh, She’s a Deli girl

Slicing up that ham so very thin..

Ooooo, she’s a Deli girl!

Giving out Free samples

To the kids

Oh, She’s a Deli girl..

Wears a new pair of gloves with

every

Handling!

Oooooooo, she’s a Deli Girl!

Cole-slaw and pickles with all the

Sandwiches,

Deli giiiiirl!

Grab the cold cut slicer

And you

do your thing,

Ohh, and she’s a Deli girl

The Deli’s not the place

to raise your kids.

Oooooooooooo,

and you better take a number,

cause I think it’s gonna be a long, long line,

Yes I think it’s gonna be a

Long, Long line…


Nocturne of a College Student (the America I love)

It’s nights like these

when I sit in Applebees

and stare mindlessly

at 20 different television screens,

watch young girls humiliate themselves

and men punch each other in the face,

And I have advertisements

and meaningless messages

poured into my head,

over and over and over again…

on nights like this

I look around as I sit, and

I just get tired of all this shit,

the ceaseless glow and the white noise,

the pleasure activated by sugary foods

and bouncing images

of cheerleader boobs,

the iphone molesting douchebag

with the backwards flat-brimmed

Penn-State hat,

The waiter who could be so much more,

the teenaged girls who think they want

to act like whores,

The bittersweet New Jersey of our dreams.

It’s nights like these I think

I just want to quit

America is rotting my brain,

and throwing potential

down the drain


change.

somehow i guess I just expect

that it’s going to happen,

that i don’t have to do anything at all

Just another year in the life,

thinking that if i want to walk

then first i’ve got to crawl

i want to believe that it’s true,

that it’s something anyone

at all can do,

but when i look in the mirror and sigh,

because i’m still the same me,

no matter how hard i try,

and i make the same dumb mistakes

and the same shitty calls,

same turnpike rest stop bathroom stalls,

i wonder if it’s possible

or if all those stories of change are hoaxes,

all those reformed men and women

are bogus,

and their act imposes

a false reality to the rest of us.

am i stubborn,

or am i simply because i am?

These are questions not for me,

that i’m sure can be solved

by Euclidean geometry,

but for now let’s try and see

if the adaptive imagination

of the human psyche,

with all it’s infinite potential,

can change

my apparently zodiac destiny,

and break me free from these

pleasantly self-destructive

tendencies.


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