Monthly Archives: March 2015

How to Take a Shove

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she was sitting in an old chair, but she wasn’t in repose.
she was laughing at you.
she was looking at the way you hold her fingers like an infant,
searching for a person in a person right in front of you.
she had been stealing, but not for love.
she was stealing a book on how to take a shove
she was minding her own damn buisness.

she was in your arms.

she had her sweet, sweet song,
and liked to think she had your tongue
which dovetailed on her lost nomadic sentences
you never caught her kissing under false pretenses
and when her words started dripping out like smoke
within the wooded moss, the fog grey air like a brush stroke
you found an orange myrrh baloon in the sky and it was her
happy to become smaller and smaller
pointless as a gunpoint, barely much asunder
lightweight, featherweight, bit of string and whispering
take a shove and leave a shove, it’s cheaper by the dollar.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

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The Julep in Juniper

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His ears, a the back of his head.

his forehead.

His hair, a the back of his face.

his foreface.

His smile, a the curve of his mouth

round found mouth

his foremouth

I am watching him

Climbing over a porch

whistling, the julep in juniper

and he’s an improper servant of the law

my lord,

I’m served the sentences that played a your lips,

with my own free mind.

Climbing over the tree,

dangling,

he is an immortal messenger of the law,

I am a pleading to the witness to your eyes

on my own free mind.,

and I am staring at the watch,

and,

slipping through the cool dew

with ice blue pools,

and the rules of life and of lying

rules of smiling and dying

pairs of x and y

inwardly wise, not without the contradictions,

in sprawling grass,

his smile, o the curve of his mouth; alkalinity

and the maze of dust left on the post, the

way the air brushes over the everywhere,

touching nothing

just being strung along and along.

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

Riot

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street crash, wallstreet was just as bad.

you laughed at me. you thought it was funny?

those hounds are immortal! at home, the old chaps joke about

the flying daisylace wax business papers, the suspended sentences,

the eyes/dread meeting perfectly in time to the scene of the crime,

the way my trousers fell perpendicularly to the floor

the hounds, the eyes of men laughing inside a corridor

only the traffic barreling down made it seem like two

herds of buffalo, bison making buffoons of me-

the barreling, tumbling sunset and the women all fussing

and the sound of a dozen car horns echoing in a chambered chorus unison

and now they all laugh at me, at the reform club.

I was one of their own before.

I’d sit down here to explain, my dear,

(how innocent,)

(your cheek, lips!)

but surely you know

that riding cars in London can sever a fatal blow?

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry

Shift of Matter (a love poem)

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you

twitch your hand

so like the movement of viscous mass

atom and tongue

piercing with carbon

tell me,

graphite on a canvas wall

ask me to tell you why I

bubbled, changed color, changed temperature,

when you twitched your hand

so like a simple arching frequency wave

a signal, an indication,

that you and I talking was a shift of matter-

I bubbled, changed color, changed temperature,

Copyright 2015 Golden Star Poetry