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Author Archives: marcofreschi

About marcofreschi

I live in the Ocean and write poetry

big world (small marco.)

Marco mans a little lost Without the dinerboys and the union boss, Italian kids in leather jackets, parking lot nights & streetlights that glow through the dark of New Jersey, the stuff we used to know, The Cups of coffee and pretty girls we never spoke to, K-Mart crushes long gone, concrete basements where We shared dreams not drugs, and talked about the kids we graduated with, How somehow, some of them made it, Our worlds were so small And we never knew that the world was so big, We never knew that it didnt end at Manhattan But I guess nothings the same as it was except the tattoos & the scars, Cause chainlink fences come down, and people sell cars.

Sometimes I think though, How did i get here? Where’s the world I used to know? Cause the one I’m in is pretty big, and it’s easy to get lost.

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beloved by god.

Float like a Butterfly

sting like a bee-

his hands can’t Hit

what his Eyes can’t see

The greatest ever

in death now free

the brave the strong

Muhammad Ali


slam ii. (work in progress)

From my understanding of the Situation I’m the product of the George W. Bush Administration, The “Afraid of Iraq and Iran” War on Terror in Afghanistan New Generation of young men & women dying for old-man’s Wars, weapons of Massive destruction MASSIVE lies which led to lost lives, liberty, and the expansion of capitalism So now The NSA has my information, Jack up police militarization Across America, For a nation We see As exceptional, We Are Exceptionally racist, Founded on unrecognized Genocides Then built up high by the blood of Slaves, then institutionalized By policies and legislation woven in Intricately inseparably dividing People, Racial divide leaving scars that won’t Heal and open wounds as large as wealth gaps that still bleed, Don’t Shoot, Hands up, Black Lives Matter and so do Facebook shares and social media spreading information telling us This is Happening, This is Happening Woah This Is NOT OK ok? Media talking heads spit shit that make heads spin, the “BE Afraid, We ARE Afraid, Security, Security Fear Muslims Mexicans and The War on Drugs is a total success!” (pipe-lining poor people to privatized prison Systems Where they’re set up to fail So that the money keeps flowwwwwwing) And that’s Normal! Pharmeceutical cartels driving prices of pills uP While docters perscribe addictions, Corporate interest groups sitting in government seats & Lobbyists passing policies, WHAT UP CAPITALISM, YES The National defense budget is a trillion dollars per year and people are starving to death down the block and live lives in fear, Fear for their bodies and fear for their children, and THAT’s

a little bit fucked up to say the Least but normalized police presence and white supremacists running for president Are the world WE’RE living in, The one that’ll be inherited by the first children of the New Millennium (that’s me, that’s US) so stand UP Speak UP, poets and People, white Asian black Latino American people, Are we a product of what we’re seeing? Because we watched from New Jersey in 2001 when black smoke rose from Manhattan, and we saw invasions, followed by outsourced protection, charred Blackwater bodies hung over the Euphrates like ornaments, feeding this insecure countries little “complex”- I’m just not buying it USA, I don’t dig it- the definitions have to change with the times, see change BE change, America needs to answer it’s crimes, There are lives on the line America YOU DO NOT DEFINE

Me.


Scream of Conscienceless (the Jersey Punk.)

Here come the misunderstood youth of a divorced generation, those Punk-rockers and Diner Boys who reek like Weed with Dead Kennedys patches on their scraped-up knees, broken skateboards and broken families, with tupperware containers of cold tortellini and Long tangled hair with tattoos of N.J., crawling from Basements in Burbs with Blood-red eyes in search of Disco-fries and take Rides on the DeCamp 33 to set them free from everything their parents want them to be and See Brooklyn, They learned anatomy from back-wall pornography in Quick Stop or 7/11, And their words from Glenn Danzig, not Parents caring and summers spent in South Jersey skate parks where older kids Showed them what boges are, and how to Kick-flip. This is our Generation, where Violence raised us on glowing screens and the desert wars taught us to Hate and fear the government, a bunch of pussies in Suits who fuck up the Planet, and try to assassinate Ed Snowden. This is Our Generation, where we live in the America we didn’t create and don’t want, and the Old Ways are dying, and Something new will rise to fill their place


the pilgrims of Route 23 (where are they going? who will help them?)

I heard someone say that the diner boys will never leave this town, and they’ll never make it much farther than the Hudson river line. It seems melodramatic to say but I know deep down that the cups of coffee and the late night laughs and the company they keep is just a way they use to escape being sad, and all they really want is some purpose, a life, a pretty girl to hold their hands at night, and motivation to change and to not just keep sliding back into those old habits and keep making those same fucking mistakes, again and again. And they joke and laugh about other kids and how much better they’ve got it figured out, but sometimes student loans and canoli cream make them want to scream and waitresses who seem 60 (when we know they’re 40) make them think with unspoken concern that Maybe someday that’s us, with a useless degree and debts they can’t pay and the government making it 90 dollars a day just to walk in the doors of Saint Barnabas, woah- The last of the boomers rode the American victory in Europe all the way to Iraq, where there are no victories any more. Now there’s just kids with brain damage who can’t sleep right at night, and have trouble trusting people so they can’t find the jobs, just end up divorced or move to Maine or someplace to try to dull the pain, New world order, for the scared and uncertain future of the diner boys who drown themselves every night in cups of hot brown coffee and small-town gossip and big-world news, and everyday the New York Times tells them They’re bound to lose, and so they say that maybe Someday they’ll become an actor or maybe a farmer, move to LA and Get away from New Jersey, Those diner boys have got it all figured out- the world is a psychopath, and if you don’t laugh you end up sad, but even they have to leave the diner sometime, and go back home where nothing’s all right and money is tight and it’s not very funny At all. I heard someone say They let the animals out of the cages at night in the Bronx, And Lions and Apes stalk the dark streets in Fordham. It was probably a joke, but it made me think, whatever will become of those diner boys who love the rain and Hate to go back home? Will they make it somehow, and find a way to survive those wild and lonely nights, where the Animals are loose and dreams can seem

kind of stupid.


Kali Yuga Come At Last (New Orleans, the Night, the memory)

Three best friends

down Louisiana

This is it,

the Kali Yuga

I Close my Eyes

and Hallelujah-

I don’t want to die tonight,

not now,

not yet.


the Code of the Road (part II.)

Breath in deep and sleep on your back in prairie-grass beneath the Milky Way’s cloudy arms in Wisconsin, and don’t EVER look back East to New Jersey, just keep moving, Running, Hiding in boxcars and rail-road yards, Two tattoos, One for each hand, As I Plunge my way deeper Into the Heartland, Savage Indian screams and axle-grease War-paint, Long hair matted down Over desperate scared face, Taste Blood and fear, and the immeasurable loneliness of sleeping on the side of a Minnesota highway.

So Here’s your American dream, So Don’t you Let it slip away; The Rocky Mountains are much colder When you got no place to stay. There’s a code of the road, for every beaten traveler, But Tonight the Pennsylvania Turnpike is the only thing that matters Escaping West to Ohio’s chest the wandering American will find a way

to Avalon.


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