Gravity's Grin
1 week ago
7/31/08
7/30/08
7/29/08
ABOUT YOURSELF
SO WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME
ABOUT YOURSELF
NO ONE CARES HOW YOU FEEL
SO TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF
NO ONE CARES
TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU
OR LIKES YOU
SO PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT
YOURSELF
NO ONE CARES MUCH WHAT
HAPPENS TO YOU
WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME
ABOUT YOURSELF
YOUR LIFE IS A MESS AND NO
ONE CARES FOR YOU
SO TELL ME A LITTLE BIT
ABOUT YOURSELF
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR
OPINION
TELL ME A LITTLE ABOUT
YOURSELF
TRUST ME NO ONE CARES
SO TELL ME SOMETHING
ABOUT YOURSELF
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU
7/28/08
HOT
tonight on a back
street in North
Hollywood the
severed head of
a porno star looks
just like this one a
waitress had on who
served you breakfast
in 1972 when you
were hot hot hot
street in North
Hollywood the
severed head of
a porno star looks
just like this one a
waitress had on who
served you breakfast
in 1972 when you
were hot hot hot
7/27/08
Hummingbird
inefficacious bones of
every piece of puke
I ever fucked up or
kicked the shit out of
because I do it for a
living so why would
I front you a 20 sack
when I personally won't
even write a poem unless
someone is buying
every piece of puke
I ever fucked up or
kicked the shit out of
because I do it for a
living so why would
I front you a 20 sack
when I personally won't
even write a poem unless
someone is buying
7/26/08
Amaranth
ghost tavern on the outskirts.
small and musty like an old train car covered in
rusted beer signs of unknown brands.
tongue and groove walls yellowed by nicotine.
smoky blurred characters at a dark burgundy formica
topped bar suspended in canned laughter.
crumpled red and green Lucky Strike packages
on corner tables full of empty glasses.
a father's skeleton hands lifting you up as a shadow
slides you a Coca Cola in the thick light green bottle.
clicking of an overhead fan like a Nellie
Fox baseball card in the spokes.
faraway smell of a neighborhood burning leaves outside
a hand worn door that doesn't even open.
small and musty like an old train car covered in
rusted beer signs of unknown brands.
tongue and groove walls yellowed by nicotine.
smoky blurred characters at a dark burgundy formica
topped bar suspended in canned laughter.
crumpled red and green Lucky Strike packages
on corner tables full of empty glasses.
a father's skeleton hands lifting you up as a shadow
slides you a Coca Cola in the thick light green bottle.
clicking of an overhead fan like a Nellie
Fox baseball card in the spokes.
faraway smell of a neighborhood burning leaves outside
a hand worn door that doesn't even open.
7/24/08
1968
that's when I graduated high school
and on the last day of class we took
reds and went down to the beach but
got delayed for hours because thousands
of people lined Imperial Hwy. to watch
the jet that carried away Bobby Kennedy's
body into the void fly low overhead and that
was a weird sight but a lot of heavy people got
killed that year one way or another so we
didn't really think nothing of it standing
there in history walking up and down in it
ready for a world which when I look at
it now was hardly worth waiting for
and on the last day of class we took
reds and went down to the beach but
got delayed for hours because thousands
of people lined Imperial Hwy. to watch
the jet that carried away Bobby Kennedy's
body into the void fly low overhead and that
was a weird sight but a lot of heavy people got
killed that year one way or another so we
didn't really think nothing of it standing
there in history walking up and down in it
ready for a world which when I look at
it now was hardly worth waiting for
7/23/08
YOU COULD BE THE NEXT BIG WINNER
write your little poems for the
rest of your life rolling up
pennies for the top ramen and
beer because all the extras you
can shoplift for your kids so they
will feel normal in a digital
jungle of bad movies and violent
video games where a nigga is on
top of the game with a bigger
pistol in that drug kingdom of
advanced dementia where no
one buys any books or says yes
to beautiful until it all ends
up on You Tube where depression
hurts and no one gives a fuck anyway
unless you're stalking them with the
fake identity that made you want
to write a poem in the first place
rest of your life rolling up
pennies for the top ramen and
beer because all the extras you
can shoplift for your kids so they
will feel normal in a digital
jungle of bad movies and violent
video games where a nigga is on
top of the game with a bigger
pistol in that drug kingdom of
advanced dementia where no
one buys any books or says yes
to beautiful until it all ends
up on You Tube where depression
hurts and no one gives a fuck anyway
unless you're stalking them with the
fake identity that made you want
to write a poem in the first place
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