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Tag Archives: originalpoetry.org

the Tragedy on Route 23

the rain drums down on the window at 11:00 on Wednesday night, and I Stop in to the diner after a long day for a bite; I gloomily pick at french fries, and use them to scoop cole slaw And I can’t help but Overhearing the 30 year old busboy talk excitedly to the old sour-faced waitress- It’s just how Jay-Z got started! I just have to keep making beats, and sell a couple to get the money to get out of here, then I’m set! This shit is going to blow up, know sayin? No more wiping no fucking tables! My Dad told me I’m getting real good. Karen leans in with my check and smiles wryly and says with enough melancholy to break my heart- Some people are superstars in their own mind. I look at the check for 7.22. I leave her a 5 dollar tip for her wisdom. I walk out into the rain and shed a tear where it is quickly washed away and lost.

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missed the boat

the world was in my grasp

and I turned my face away,

because I ¬†guess that’s who I am.

I guess i’d rather just watch railroad tracks,

Watch the trains rolling out

To California or El Paso,

Tacoma or Ontario,

or other places I’ll never go.

I let the door shut

on that perfect person

and for What?

Garbage and Broken families,

shadows of marshland memories,

Cold Tupperwares of tortellinis.

I guess i should have tried,

but it may be

that loving another

just isn’t for me.


spook lights got me lost in skeleton swamp

it’s 2 am again, and Marco’s softly following a will-O’-the-wisp into the murky depths of the bog, stumbling over logs in the fog, trying to reach the light in the night before the glowing Red eyes of the Beast close in for the feast.


Cry of the Salmon Woman of the Red Earth People

hey first people,

how is the reservation life treating you?

stop another freight train in Canada,

got a job serving drinks

at Red Wind casino?

more teen suicides

as you cry and watch your

culture die

But hey,

keep on giving it a try,

and maybe by 2045

you’ll get

those treaty rights restored!


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.


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 :(


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