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Tag Archives: poetry

The White Chicken

So much depends

upon

 

the off white

chickens

 

with their yellow

beaks

 

and life giving

eggs

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little blanket-bug!

when I wake up in the morning and I’m all comfy in my bed,

I fell like a lil blanket-bug, and I burrow in my head!


get back down.

put aside

the thoughts of suicide

so you can let another

dreadful day go by.

sit inside

and wallow in your

lost pride

and feeble attempts

to get past your bedside.

drag out the door.

can’t do this no more.

big bad max provides relief,

albeit it brief.

best bros make it better

but not for long.

you know where you belong.


Il Dado e Tratto

the Ides of March are upon us

and the Caesar’s days are numbered;

though the conquest of Gall

brought wealth and fame

and All the world

Shall remember the name,

Ambition

will extinguish

the brightest flame

And as legions cross the Rubicon

the Senate are solemnly

sharpened blades.

For The Pharaohs of the Nile

and all the riches of military splendor…

Et tu, Brute? Then Fall, Caesar.


Out of the North

out of the North I gallop towards home,

rubber hooves of my Civic pounding the Palisades Parkway

Pump pump on the gas, to Switch lanes and pass,

Raggaeton on, November air pouring over the sleek bodied machine

trees and signs fly by, Hudson River Valley disappears behind,

swallowed up by the blackness my high beams couldn’t find,

ink-black waters of the river flow churn slow,

Garden State plates traveling in a bounding pack down the track

like hounds for the races, skyline light replaces stars turn to

street lights frantically spilling by night’s asphalt blood

Out of the North and away from the dreams,

reentry to reality urban chugging turning gangland mugging

gasoline igniting cigarette loving and exits for the Holland Tunnel,

Shout out to Elizabeth, Union and Brooklyn the radio Jamaician MC sings

While I’m barreling to Heaven on four-cylinder wings,

the Pulaski Skyway sets us free

Ripping our Skeletons Out of the North

and Smashing them gently

into the Sea.


a penny for your thoughts?

How do sense and cents sound the same.

It doesn’t make any sense.


Ser Marco of Hackensack

sometimes in my mind,

I’m a prince or a knight,

standing up for what is Good and Right

in a world of evil-doers and warlocks.

 

but sometimes,

I think that I’m the monster,

and that knights

just can’t exist here.


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