tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89640882388178415892024-02-08T06:56:26.216-08:00Kill PoetryAn art in need of pruning.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-25226587600388134572011-01-08T14:00:00.000-08:002011-02-27T10:11:43.495-08:00N L SBlah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br /><br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br /><br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'<br />Blah blah' blah blah' blah blah'Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-78643124693780430772010-12-01T08:00:00.001-08:002010-12-01T08:00:16.126-08:00This should go elsewhere (later)Until you find yourself on a rocker<br />guarding dribblings from the rats<br />and shotgun guarding the estate<br />Long decayed to passersby.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-23795547190917933382010-12-01T07:53:00.000-08:002011-02-27T10:15:09.035-08:00C Worker's Complaint (redo)I will post this again<br />And there will be lines<br />going all the way down the page.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-8551987248066310482010-11-30T17:29:00.000-08:002010-11-30T17:37:25.732-08:00Separating the ImageFine images<br />of a lover and children <br />and seedy yellow harvests,<br />would accompany me day-to-day<br />for withdrawals at the bank<br />or in lines at the heart transplant center,<br />until I realized, no,<br />waiting in lines<br />and for death<br />will go away completely<br />with a lock of my room,<br />where I’d still enjoy harvests,<br />a lover, and children. <br /><br />Purple fields and skies<br />would sit beside me in logic class,<br />listen to grandma's pilled-out <br />manic episodes,<br />and mark dying deadlines<br />on the calendar,<br />until I realized, no,<br />commitments like these<br />to class and family<br />will go away completely<br />with a lock of my room,<br />where I’d still enjoy harvests,<br />a lover, and children. <br /><br />The great indoors!<br />All of the day-to-day go-getting<br />replaced with purple fields and skies.--<br />--Horror horns may vomit<br />failures to appear in court,<br />but so what?--I have fields<br />to seal my lids upon,<br />and escape hardened life<br />in constructed skies.<br /><br />How my throat tightened<br />when this creation darkened<br />and purples went light brown<br />and took away tweeting sounds,<br />and the lover became reserved <br />and then snuck out the door,<br />and children turned to dirt.<br /><br />My gasping head of tears<br />screamed at the forever listening listener:<br />what world is this that I cannot make my own!<br />what world is this that demands,<br />“Do something, now! You’re in it!<br /><br />You ran from the world <br />of cars, of lines , of scars,<br />and went into your head<br />of fields, of loves, <br />yet how the head is mirrored <br />and has not it’s own light,<br />apart from the turning ongoing world,<br />that blends all visions for your choosing.<br />How loutish your escape,<br />as if the moon were fleeing the sun<br />and screaming at its loss of light,<br /><br />you’ll take it all back, or have nothing,<br />take birthing pangs of dull tasks again and again <br />with dying bodies and clamoring voices<br />and everything besides!”Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-35324665070326594852010-11-07T12:39:00.000-08:002010-11-07T12:43:09.400-08:005000 VapoursWhen someone impresses me<br />it's shouldn't be so final.<br /><br />The tower drops down<br />and its mangled steel<br />contraption<br />juts out rusted<br />from a cracked stone foundation<br />where I lay my head down<br />and close my eyes<br />from the decaying corpses<br />around and sing myself to sleep:<br /><br />I love you, stones that failed,<br />I love you, building of air<br />and 5000 smoldering vapours.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-51785052749985713102010-11-07T12:31:00.000-08:002010-11-07T12:39:12.598-08:00Upper SensationsA white back<br />--The one companion image<br />dinned and crossed<br />conversations<br />up to the shiny aristocratic,<br />undemocratic,<br />wandering astonishments<br />laced in unagreed upon<br />conditions<br />so that we'd<br />just go and see what happened,<br />we'd stretch out<br />and forget about death.<br /><br />Now,<br />time for another, I'm terrible<br />at first impressions,<br />I give too much jazz arrayments<br />and accept the slimest potential<br />of our time and place<br />as possessing unprocessed explosions<br />of fortified expressions.<br />Just le mot juste (only the right ones)<br />and nothing besides.<br /><br />But every sour tongue is part of the experience,<br />I'll learn, I'll learn . . . <br />yet in cocophany of brittle sounds<br />and bitter plates did I forget<br />that hunger and thirst had ever existed.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-91147667756132406802010-07-19T22:27:00.000-07:002010-07-19T22:28:29.740-07:00Rationa(i)l (The sucking up of wonder by too much reflection)Before sunning palms<br />sits the sunning palms,<br />sunning in the sun<br />for the purposes of<br />being in the light.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-25740668776352190282010-07-19T21:54:00.000-07:002010-07-28T09:28:14.809-07:00The ElephantThere's an elephant too,<br />but he's invisible.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">The elephant charging a splashing river<br />On the grey afternoon<br />between two trees<br />after midnight.</span><br /><br />At a housewarming party,<br />I told this joke.<br />No one laughed. <br />One kid cried.<br /><br />I told him he was adopted<br />and the tears shed a red and white painted shed<br />before I could continue <br />with invisible elephants<br />so he'd know it was too fantastical<br />know it was to stupid<br />to be true in the truthy sense that is real in a really truthful going up elevator.<br /><br />Get up! The night is going down . . . to the extreme. A vigil will be held in a rain bucket, when the toaster timer goes off, and the orphans can have their rations.<br /><br />They aren't rational, but they get what they pay for dammit, which was a lot less than you paid. Don't give me that needy look. You get nothing, the end.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-39114805950869471682010-07-15T08:37:00.000-07:002010-07-15T10:27:24.785-07:00By the BarA hill of ash clouds the bar,<br />grey and bald of fire expired<br />as in line for a bank teller<br />waiting, car parked, to retire.<br /><br />There's no job, and wife<br />won't stop about it.<br />The glass hollows--it's life!<br />--and wets the smoldering pit.<br /><br />Under the stool here, listen,<br />before the tables to him talk,<br />his sight the world leadens<br />and the world no longer shocks:<br /><br />"Cute baby girls through the door<br />to men holding the silver moon,<br />who grab them to the dance floor<br />and drift in timeless tune.<br /><br />Even my jaded eye's less jaded<br />in seeing meaning move here<br />to tease my form. But, I'm faded<br />with rolling ongoing years.<br /><br />That couple!--He makes a sign<br />he's even completely unaware<br />but she by it knows: 'he's mine,<br />forever. It's in his stare.'<br /><br />His eye's inside hers, <br />he won't one moment dare shut.<br />They'll bleed when blood poors<br />all down her bleeding heart.<br /><br />And which would I become<br />for meaning's manifestation;<br />the girl or the guy would I roam<br />if for one transmigration?<br /><br />I'd put my shadow in that girl<br />--under the exception<br />I'd return in here after the whirl<br />avoiding her long severe reflection.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />[And who would I become<br />if for one transmigration;<br />In whose form would I roam<br />a meaning manifestation?]<br />FormAleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-77933000632917033502010-07-14T10:06:00.000-07:002010-07-28T09:27:29.828-07:00Jumping OffThere's no silence here under one lamp<br />so late. The walls alive reverberate<br />with one voice: your calling passion<br />springing in mounts of blues electric amps,<br />pushing from me doubt and frantic fears of late<br />that no one exists who creates live expression.<br /><br />Sing on, siren, for my senses unstable<br />for arriving here how was I able?<br />As no absinthe from hard drinking days<br />ran such red lights and bent up roadways<br />as I did barely moments before<br />drifting dazed from your door.<br />Thank the silver moon who led me home<br />while I better thought your dark eyes to roam.<br /><br />Never quit, echo! I'll long pull up my sheets<br />and try a swirling head to rest,<br />to disappear into rustling summer trees<br />beyond silent deserted streets,<br />as your voice makes sounds seen.<br /><br />Dreaming summer, I'll trample new ground for one chance,<br />with you to breathe and bask in freedom's dance.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-84697174474858001572010-06-17T09:33:00.000-07:002010-06-17T09:38:11.926-07:00Ma Chérie,let's tear the world apart,<br />bring back bleeding alive a perfect art<br />that lives for us alone<br />and (once we're dead)<br />will settle in collector's homes.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-35895103815413192032010-06-16T21:00:00.001-07:002010-06-16T21:06:43.287-07:00UlcersIn bile emptiness<br />I pray to the ages<br />that they'll rest herein <br />and restore these pages<br /><br />from a sinking bed<br />yellow shrinking <br />behind shutters<br /><br />I confess<br />with folded hands<br />over bleeding belly<br />and drift one in<br />the unrelenting,<br /><br />voyage<br />when I forget<br />who I am<br />and who I trek with<br />when I forget<br />fumbling futures<br />like one ageless<br />if I'd stretch <br />retreating light.<br /><br />The bleeding sore erosion<br />lifts me to embark<br />without limp legs<br />that'll never move<br />now,<br />drift,<br />shock mellows then fades<br />into sonorous breath<br />of woodside roads<br />off to the numberless.<br /><br />Fuzz of pined mountains <br />rolling horizons ... <br /><br />. . .. . . .Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-15084686216976767732010-06-14T16:40:00.000-07:002010-06-14T16:44:16.598-07:00Lionel Johnson Earnest DowsonLoved poetry to death. Rhymers, dead.<br />Through stupor,clunking heads <br />against a hand rail.<br />Loved<br /><br />to death. Another's to you two<br /><br />what did you write?<br /><br />i don't know yet<br />but another drink<br />to you <br />you all.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-59190386885607160692010-06-13T22:37:00.000-07:002010-06-13T22:51:30.416-07:00G.A.D.Shock's sprinting<br />expectations<br />galore rend hive <br />head worse spiked <br />forms penetrate<br />spine pumping<br />blood hypes<br />derranged<br />lone thumbs<br />twiddling<br />sticks<br />go where<br />do what<br />need to know<br />circuits reving<br />vessels<br />sparking<br />pressure poppers<br />rolling<br />in dirt<br />exposed brain<br />retreating light<br />all need'll<br />all want'll<br />all desire'll<br />go with<br />ending show.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-59487146695103162232010-06-13T22:36:00.000-07:002010-12-24T15:49:16.303-08:00To a Fine Human BeingSo much there is; Can't contain it all here,<br />but on my pen flies and it I won't veer<br />and stand against my calling for art<br />though most this age would rip their ears apart<br />or repeat so in Journals with a scribbling mess.<br />I'll affirm it, teacher, this music's timeless.<br />So let's travel back with an inward gaze<br />and extend the limits of paraphrase:<br /><br />Twelve years I listened to the dronings on<br />about chemicals or dates without reason, <br />remember so many expressionless faces<br />at lectures too gunshy to make their cases,<br />ending with the animals roaring in their zoo<br />while the shaking teacher went 'what to do?'<br />From here reaching your class, you told us the sum<br />showing us to our seats, not like a mom<br />but like one vanquishing dragons within,<br />mastering a game that always you'd win,<br />all while joining students on their turbulent turff<br />in stunning fearlessness and equable worth,<br />as many that age are no less than Grendel<br />considered outcasts, up shit creek without paddle;<br />where a fire'd break out, you'd bring them around<br />with voice moral and gentle, their actions unwound<br />and if not--watch out! You'd call 'unsex me here'<br />sieze a cruel crown and then out they'd clear.<br />--What a will, but, the dumbest being sages,<br />you'd soon fight Grendel's mom in email exchanges.<br />Such shows were the day to day occurance, <br />and I observed all, if that's an assurance.<br />Anything between these lines is owed to you,<br />first to say questing with Rimbaud's the thing to do,<br />or that you hung out with Morrison, he's one man<br />of once I said 'I'll follow anywhere I can'<br />(of how many have I said that since then?)<br />--and it's true, bearded Jim wins in the end--<br />and long dicussions we had of that Holy Book<br />--though a bit faded, as today's freeways are stuck--<br />and in pinning Cassady's picture to your wall<br />we wrestled and you brought it down as I recall.<br />Just as well, though I myself forget some words<br />between your sparkling room and wine-flooded cupboards;<br />in it there was much you must of had to forgive,<br />with blustering teens you know how to deal and live.<br /><br />All is in flux Hereclitus knows; no more<br />come through your course, the next pass another's door.<br />And when you stand before Vienna and Rome,<br />the Colosseum, arches, Florence's dome,<br />and any monuments for the existing today<br />among gellati shops, cycling crowds, buffets,<br />know in there all turns with the stretching mold<br />those influenced by you, now out in the world<br />who live and love with the passing events<br />and strive to shape their own true monuments.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-56407486346808125732010-06-05T23:49:00.000-07:002010-06-05T23:50:33.114-07:00Looking at You Looking at YouI see you walkin' sideways cap and cap o' seven up;<br />rollin' in life complete.<br /><br />lo' i hear thee<br />msgn them yo peeps of master plans<br />to task the days with chillin'<br />we hear thee<br />bob up and down the night time alley<br />waving flags<br />in black of washed out stars<br />we hear n make of it what we heard<br />whatever <br /><br />bob up and down in daylight concrete<br />near by the mechanized highways<br />and to you a star is shown<br />(If you could comprehend)<br />as more free than even those who look at you<br />and comment, <br />in fragmented print.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-33778293411466786372010-06-04T17:08:00.000-07:002010-06-04T17:19:47.387-07:00My Woman Will be CloakedLady,<br /><br />You chat on; if you'd like to know,<br />where these feet have treked<br />between ellum leaf<br />I'll show you.<br /><br />I've wrested from God's<br />claws what is,<br />From electric star <br />and such suns<br />no more consider<br />what swirls below.<br /><br />I mean you,<br />you're the one.<br /><br />The severed heads of youth<br />took us away<br />but, alas, was flightless.<br /><br />I'll wrap you in burqa leaves<br />behind my fire,<br />one of uncivilized meanderings<br />one of law, sharia, sharia;<br />my fire fierce of Mullah's blade<br />which with one false note<br />will off your tongue! <br />as you look on,<br />that much you are aware,<br />I see. <br /><br />Penelope,<br />wait for me, wait, <br />caged in linen<br />no matter where I'm going! (don't ask)<br /><br />I'll return,<br />sometime, this year? <br />Next year . . .?Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-86398700206840443472010-06-03T22:56:00.000-07:002010-06-05T23:57:45.968-07:00Taper taper taper[save my work, blog, so I'll dream it out and do no work]<br /><br /><br />05/27/2009 RIP Kyle Lane one year dead, I've heard nothing else, no indication he's anywhere but gone, his friends have heard only silence after tears<br /><br />As I can tell, the ground drys with consciousness<br />no colors, warmth, or calousness.<br /><br />eh, and so day today winds down to the quick sensation which will be forgotten,<br />and legs strain the burden,<br /><br />take the vitamins, check your depression, the doctor prescribes, <br />but what keeps his words from winding down lickwise?<br /><br />the day today no memeory, sensation fleeting with all concern.<br />Legs cramped, sit stand no matter, wander where to my cure?<br /><br />that we'll meet again inward weeps,<br />but those moments too are done.<br /><br />it must be we'll meet again, <br />shoddy beliefs shown a sham and wishful<br />thinkers, idiotic louts blind to reality<br />unfolding, and so i reject.<br /><br />reject it once and for all<br />liveout my dying days correct.<br /><br />but what inside seeks for truth?<br /><br />is that something sensation only,<br />but again in asking i'd like to know,<br />only truth<br />only truth, returns, drowned in century's vanity,<br />has it a place now? well there,<br />there it may once again reside<br />that i wanted proofs and nothing less,<br />setting self above sensation.<br /><br />and what story then do i give myself?<br />opening possibilities, contagion, <br />it won't limit itself,<br />but rises and says<br />restoration, resurrection, we'll know it's true,<br />meet again wherever but again<br /><br />and springing I go toward that goal<br />with no exertion of my own<br />legs unhinged, were they ever cramped? <br />they're too light now,<br /><br />as toiling workers<br />all the day, in shops, offices, fields,<br />look to the end of that shift,<br />to see daughter, son, wife, husband<br />and know it's near,<br /><br />even gladly does the task,<br />no matter what it is<br />so long as he live in the truth<br />of seeing them again, again!<br /><br />So too, I'll stride<br />repeating, is it true!?<br />and pray for a transformation,<br />a resurrection today in me alive.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-91259491687558153812010-06-02T22:02:00.000-07:002010-07-28T09:31:54.721-07:00YouthHaving youth is little more<br />than keeping the exit in plain view<br />beyond to new follies, lead ashore<br />to lands of hardened jewls.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-79994466174022931402010-06-01T21:45:00.000-07:002010-06-01T21:55:49.542-07:00White BreadCan we feed a white bread<br />stuffed head?<br /><br />Calories never burning<br />cept in nourishing<br /><br />how rich <br />is this?<br /><br />Too much, <br />down with poverty<br />once they said.<br /><br />Well,<br />we've paid that price,<br />the idles, nothing done<br />down with what,<br />when will we starve?<br /><br />--Dear God,<br />take away from us this day<br />our daily white bread<br />stuffed head.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-22006660421741705372010-05-01T16:34:00.000-07:002010-05-02T14:47:21.121-07:00PrologueIt would not be repectful to the reader's attention span to itemize the small <br /><br />mountain of goods Maria had accumulated from her friends. The mass consisted <br /><br />in part of disposable diapers, baby food, stuffed animals, rattles, bibs, sleepers, <br /><br />blankets and party favor bags. The backyard was a sparkle of other props: <br /><br />plates, cups, napkins, plastic forks and knives, a pinata, and a dozen sky-blue, <br /><br />latex balloons proclaiming It's a Boy. The sun shot straight down on all of <br /><br />this but left Maria and her friends unscathed as it were, hehind sunglasses <br /><br />and beneath an umbrella jutting out of the center of a table. A newcommer <br /><br />would have choked on sunscreen air, hand on knee until normal vision <br /><br />was restored, but chatting comfortably after the moments required to <br /><br />get on the inside and not to notice anything at all. <br /><br /> Chatting comfortably is almost what was going on: voices piped, yet <br /><br />what was said could have been interchanged with any phrase earlier <br /><br />or latter, or in another situation entirely; hands flowed and sprang,<br /><br />but in the same instance one hand clenched a purse, a hand bag, or a cup. <br /><br />One friend rubbed chapstic over and over upon her lip. <br /><br />"This is exciting!" "Oh, I can't wait" "You must be ready for it to end as <br /><br />well.""It isn't much longer." One friend would send up a phrase toward Maria, <br /><br />and as it fell she would again stir her straw, check her cellphone, fix her <br /><br />shades, or rub her napkin to ground the current that gives rise to such <br /><br />expressions. "It went by quick though!""Yeah?""No?""Oh!""Aha, yeah." <br /><br />Another bent her head to Maria's belly and rattled a party favor bag of blue <br /><br />chocolate candy at it. "Oh, he can hear this!" The baby was kicking at the <br /><br />commotion. "Oh yes," Maria said with half-closed lids, "the baby hears a <br /><br />lot of things." Maria reclined further into her patio chair as another friend <br /><br />finished a cupcake and was rubbing her hands on a napkin. "Oh, these <br /><br />are cute," she sent out as one deducting a singular truth from where nothing <br /><br />is more convincing. Nothing was more convincing, and it sent everyone <br /><br />nodding and checking their hands again. <br /><br /> There's something about these paper napkins though. For one thing, <br /><br />they're printed with lazer guided ink and several advances in high <br /><br />resolution technology. So inexpensive has it become to manufature these <br /><br />over the past few years that hundreds of square miles are churned out each day, <br /><br />each with colorful paintings. An artist would dream of employment with such <br /><br />machines and manufacturing processes, that shoot out one's imagination to the <br /><br />world in the face of all equally. This, of course, after a board of directors determines <br /><br />the image's suitability for common consumption. <br /><br /> "Precious, you'll soon see all of this stuff for yourself. Yes, you will!" Done with <br /><br />her napkin, the friend lobbed it into a black trashbag that was reaching capacity. The <br /><br />wadded paper hit the rim at such an angle that it unfolded on top of the heap. <br /><br />Face in the sun, the crinkled mural was one of a baby boy in diapers smiling <br /><br />with quite a bit of cupcake frosting on its mouth and bib. Above the baby was <br /><br />a banner that read It's a Boy. <br /><br /> Sipping, munching, genuflecting, and chatting repeated and progressed. The <br /><br />clanging stimulation of props declined towards the baby, and he settled his feet. The <br /><br />ladies became further situated with the objects around <br /><br />them and so drifted further apart, if only a little, from their own cellphones <br /><br />and purses. As such they were also more at ease with one another, and the <br /><br />need to fill the air with thoughts that weren't their own deminished. As a gathering<br /><br />with even old, familiar friends clamors ungrounded until the prattle instills some footing,<br /><br />so too another phase was beginning at Maria's babyshower. The ladies unfamiliar with the house no longer<br /><br />built a facade behind every corner, but stretched out their area with a more <br /><br />complete hold of the blue stucco walls and dark blue shingles surrounding <br /><br />the mounds of stuff, and the dark green grass leading up to the table where they <br /><br />sat. Individual items became more clear and each friend absorbed her own and played out several <br /><br />ways she could use it. For the moment, conversation left. Each item made itself explicit <br /><br />upon a background of sunshine, newborns, fields, and abundance, each reinforcing one another.<br /><br />It was here that one friend was absorbing towards the deck, between a pile of <br /><br />goodie bags and folded chairs. No context was in place to assimilate what what <br /><br />becomming more and more apparent--a severed head. <br /><br />Her eyes halted on it as her heart skipped and sped up. But a second later, it came to her.<br /><br /> "Oh my God, that is too funny!" <br /><br /> The other ladies darted away from their objects and followed her voice and <br /><br />finger pointing to the middle of the deck, between two vague piles. There, <br /><br />a severed head grew a smile, and then a cream-colored body with an arm, <br /><br />leg and a diaper. Its eyes grew and stared fixedly away at nothing in <br /><br />particular, facing ninety degrees left. Across its bib read Its a <br /><br />Boy. For some it took longer to figure what it was, but as one got it, <br /><br />influence spread through their shared atmosphere so that all got it. "What!" "No!" <br /><br />"They make those?""Maria, did you get that?" "Where <br /><br />did you get that!" Maria's smile grew as she nodded. <br /><br /> They strung the baby up on a low hanging branch from an ash tree. As one <br /><br />lady walked over waving a stick, slanted rays poured over its face. The textured <br /><br />paper mache illuminated and and the baby's eyes stared skyward at the source <br /><br />of that light. As the lady drew nearer, a short burst of wind rattled through and <br /><br />jolted the baby back as if flinching. <br /><br /> "So how does this work?" "Oh, it's cute though.""We gonna hit it? Ahaha."<br /><br />"No, don't do that!""There's candy inside, I hear it!" Maria creaked up off her chair. <br /><br />She grinned and, fatigued, said, "Oh no, don't hit it. I <br /><br />thought about that but . . . I think I'll keep it. It's so cute." She pointed at <br /><br />the numerous, multicolored strings hanging own from the baby's diaper. "See <br /><br />those, each one take a turn and pull one--just one!""Oh, I see." I've heard <br /><br />of these.""Me too, these are the new pinatas that you don't break.""Kids can <br /><br />get hurt.""Strings, but that's no fun!""Yeah, but it is cute." They gathered <br /><br />around. One studied the baby for a moment and, finding her string, took hold of it <br /><br />and gave it a hard tug. Her fingers slipped through the strings to the gasps of <br /><br />those around. "That must be the one!" Immediately, another took it upon herself <br /><br />to reach it. She flung up her hands, got a firm grip, and pulled. Laughter exploded <br /><br />as pale-blue packaged breathmints with It's a Boy witten on them came down by the hundreds. <br /><br />The ladies screamed and giggled; the swirling things and packages and mounds also laughed, <br /><br />and this shared abundance echoed far up the street.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-61472397379251080082010-04-03T09:58:00.000-07:002010-04-03T10:01:16.858-07:00Madeline With Yellow HatThe ordering of<br />the souls;<br />Madeline<br />smiled at<br />a white-gloved <br />femme<br />entering a car.<br />What rolled <br />was applause<br />from a mass<br />of the smiling <br />mass-less.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-9348013273359858142010-04-03T09:48:00.000-07:002010-04-03T09:58:36.287-07:00Old Man, Have a CaneOld man, have<br />a cane to<br />support yer legs.<br /><br />Youngun',<br />don't e'en get<br />up out that chair,<br />not ever.<br /><br />Trade yer legs<br />fer videa games.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-82685395115862072572010-04-02T22:18:00.001-07:002010-04-24T13:22:48.725-07:00ParalysisAs if dead weight<br />won't take up its calls.<br /><br />Neglected body<br />an object as once it saw<br /><br />patting about carelessly.<br /><br />Frivolity now serious,<br />the owner no longer owns,<br /><br />recedes into declining space,<br />and all space itself fades.Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8964088238817841589.post-30667949578899388972010-04-02T21:57:00.000-07:002011-02-27T10:18:04.231-08:00Construction Worker's ComplaintFor our future, WWIII.<br />Would push to fruition<br />Wars more deadly seen,<br /><br />Yet they decimate slightly;<br />Our worker's union<br /><br />As leveled postwar was flaming boon<br />Reminders of the past<br />Of economy once intact.<br /><br />Our monuments stand Electric, erect, called to rise<br />Mellenia--Up, up with every modern sight that looms,<br />Only too well! Out of work,<br />As new ones won'as ages colossus,<br />t be needed.<br />So our beards grow egregious,<br />Whilpark-trail-cut.<br />e we retire or sell<br />Trinkets.<br /><span style="color:#000000;">...........</span>Earthquakes give work;<br />So much when the last one hit,<br />We set aside electrical codes<br />And specs that owners our job's done well<br />tell<br />As jobs can't be over-forked<br />Just <br />We'll be sent to patch that scar,<br />Stack upon the urban gore,Aleksishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13029846840654106059noreply@blogger.com0