A Taking One, not a Giving One

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Breathless in the air
You are holding a poisoned apple
Still ripe.
Do not forsake me,
He said
And bit in.

Fell off of a tree,
The tour guide said,
Not too long ago.
I saw him with my own eyes
Drop like a ripe apple from that very branch.

Simply put,
All men are cowards,
When they get the chance.

I fell off of an apple tree,
Years ago,
And sprained my ankle.

The hospital bill was pretty bad,
But at least my mother worked at her night shift,
Which was an all-hours grocery store,
Which was really a whore house,
Which my father was gone for,
Which he knew about.
There were a lot of fights in that family,
But you didn’t ask.

I fell off of an apple tree
Filled to the brim—
Fit to bursting with ripe,
Poison apples.
I took a bite,
And fell in.

Not long after,
This boy became a man:
You’d better watch him.

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

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All Hope Is Lost

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All hope is lost,
My friends:

We scaled back the tower of babble,
Too many languages on the tip of my tongue to recognize
which one was of fire
And which one was ice,
And which one held the keys to the victory
So soon won,
Yet now with no more masons at their basins
Playing a game of dice.

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

Heaven Looks a Little Like Death to Me Sometimes

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I relive life off the screen because the one I lead right now isn’t that hollywood-worthy. It’s pretty dull. (See how you like it!)

x x x x x x x x x x

What I want is the picture window picturesquely placed perfectly by the
Purple window, facing an autumnal breeze of pale lavender.
Do you see the words exiting my mouth?
Or are they just whhhhisps of air?
It’s too warm for that. The air will only crystallize when you tell it to.
Yes,
That’s the advantage
Of living on this mountaintop,
Where the seasons
Change inexplicably,
But only because you said it,
You said it so it must be so,
It must be so,
It must be so.

I ran into the little red car that you own and I took a sledgehammer and tore it apart.
Yes,
That’s what heaven looks like.

What I want is the daybreak coming up after the afternoon, not before.
And that’s too much to ask now, no
“The air and the wind and the rain and the sun were my devising,
Really only some chemicals up in the sky really only some weather manipulation—
Or am I a magician?
Don’t you love to see my face
When it smiles,
Once in a while?”

Isn’t that the same as when you opened the door,
And slammed it shut,
And left me outside,
Past freezing,
The stomping foot,
The stomping foot,
The stomping foot.

I ran into your motor vehicle that is ten days past expiring from the exhaust pipe’s
Feeble running, running running I ran into it with a sledgehammer but
That was a complication because there are ten
Motor vehicle repairmen in the greater citywide area who say they can fix it and
Have solved the problem so that it is still running.
It’s still running, huh?
Your skull looks kind of shiny.
Want me to take a swack?
That’s the heaven,
When it all fades to–

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

Gattlin’ Gun

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After realizing I am getting ahead of myself again for the third time this year

x x x x x x x

The gattlin’ gun
Was invented to protect your young
Blood,
Flesh of your flesh,
Salt of the earth folk,
Y’understand?

The gattlin’ gun
Was invented to protect your son
Your dear thicker-than water
Son,
Settin’ on a heartless plane of Africa
Where nobody knows a goddamn thing
Least of all his name.

You should know by now
Each round they fire
Is heaven sent
Is god-inspired

You should feel by know
The fear I felt
When I took to hearing
The first plain shot
Like a plank of wood
Being struck
Inside the bones of tut
Split wide shut

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

A Death in the Family

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i was on the bus and it hit me like a bullet that he could never love me back
in the way i loved him
and i cried like i was mourning;
not  in the bittersweet way or in the melancholy way that
yearns and lusts after and has room for hope.
it was the kind of crying that realized all hope was lost, and there was no coming back.
a death.
a hole inside me that would never be filled again.
for once in a blue moon i did not enjoy crying.
Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

E.I

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What is the feeling?
Are we obligated to look inside, to examine?
To see every thought as it arrives, with you in full expectancy
And wave it away,
As if it were a poison to the soul?
You, a poison to the soul?
On the outside, you appear heavy,
A shuffling sulk, a frenzy
But to me these were things I wasn’t seeing
I was seeing Expressive Intelligence,
And the way a face moves with ease
Accross a canvas twenty years past its time
And eyes that see
And eyes that see.
Don’t stare at me
Darling, don’t stare at me.
(But why, then, did I stare back?)

Copyright 2017 Golden Star Poetry

Look-Alike

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1.
he showed me his
ashtray in the sink
a prize from the last county fair
but i didn’t know why they couldn’t have
invested in something better–
a chandelier made of glass
or a cold metal flask.

he said “they know i like to smoke,”
and pointed to his throat,
“this is where my sorrow goes.”
i understood.  i took his hand and said
“this is only the first of
many lifetimes where
a person i’ve loved
was in two places
at once”. he asked me how i knew and i said
“i know a guy who looks like you”

he stood in shock for a moment,
then laughed.
of course,
he was only a boy who seemed like you,
you whose delicate eyes i’d go searching through,
waiting hours by the roadside, vain in my hopes.
i smiled and watched him smile an identical smile
to yours.

2.
he brought out several broken bottles,
shards all jagged and bent.
he said “i’m not afraid of pain”,
and cut his mouth open before he could
explain what he meant.

the blood was dripping like a broken sink,
he laughed again and said
“i know what it’s like when your heart
is in the wrong place, i think”.

when i told him the resemblance was
making things hard,
he said,
“you need to hold on to what you’ve got.”
he nodded his head to enforce the thought,
neck moving slowly like a cable car up and down;
“you’ll find someone” he said decidedly
and lit up without looking back at me.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry