Entries categorized as ‘Poetry’
Ripped and flipped
three stogs to the pack
medical kit re foot cut
open corona
work manana
Clipper lighter to ignite
Pall Mall cigarettes.
Wallet resting on ID magazine
on Wall street
beneath Blackberry; charging.
Slippers are equipment
for shower stint
before work tomorro still
unemployed void of happiness
interuppted by serendipitous gigs.
General contracting
the business of your back kid.
City slickers hate bugs that
interupt mowing lawns for
bucks for/of family presence
stuck, developments a float
Pandora sometimes needs you
to say no
to refine the music pallet
while active before
graphic dormiendo
let me go, to smoke
the last stog
as Monday is fast
on the approach.
Categories: Poetry
Tagged: Barakaat Livan
The Pearly Gates
After you walk through the gate you are going to need a drink.
Walking through those clouds a while, you get thirsty
And look around at the frolicking angels and think
Where’s the champagne?
Then there it is, the bar appears.
The bartender is talking it up
With revolutionaries you read about
While you were alive.
You take a seat on the stool
And its plush and envelops your bottom
Like you’ll be there for a while.
You order your favorite beer
Just to get the gears greased.
Gulp, gulp man you were thirsty.
Looking down at your glass
About to call him over for another,
You see your homies pouring it out for
You
While your glass fills itself.
The bartender catches the look on your face
And tells you
Your money is no good here.
Categories: Poetry
Disassociate the face with the statements placed. For fakes, I say Jake is right on the case. SO mistakes have been made not great but, hey, whatever’s clever. Theres supposed to be someone better than me at this shit of jargon nonsense, where most of it is related to investment captial and financers pockets. Thing is I haven’t even picked up my career let alone dropped it. I watch shifts in my polls that let me know how I get along with the crowd as it grows. Whos receptive to each post and which ones relflect me the most. I get vexed a bit when I have to pull this though, this informal exersice of spontaneous prose, because I feel that there is a lacking perception of what my ability holds. For instance the sitch is, I’m at home in the sticks with some brews and a new fax machine, making my home office mean, outside of anything. Better off than many dream. Wall Street Cream Team. Triple Beam. The residual speil about meals and means. About clouds of smoke and steam. About clothes and hoes and yatta yatta, rest on Saturday with a Bag of Cibatta. Challah. After a sip of Keystone I won’t– as much as you don’t, KNOW. At all what the fucking plan is. I’m getting called other names in the street. I’m really about to walk around naked so you know that its me. Tre flips all day in the street. Critizie the feet then buy my trees. Screw face and Chinky eye the steez when I’m tired of being me. Or the one you know. The disticition is different, theres a postion of DICTION. Simpleton. Fix it when? Life is over once you cash that check. At least I don’t pay for breakfast, ever. And its steak, GO AHEAD, hate. There will no longer be this page after a few shakes of the magic wand. Concerened? I shall go on. Magic rants have cryptic chants that unearth the scriptures of which to plant, in the mind of guys who utilize time past to glorify, a nonexistent future tense bracket. CRAB SHIT. Fracture the fat kid and eat him. Waterworld with Kevin Kostner cost more at Walmart than it ever did before at my neighborhood video store. I pity the whores who sell themseleves to their agents and ask for payment and gauge that just because their enslavement warrants them being famous is a reason to playcate the IDIOT KING.
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Categories: Music · Poetry
