Tag Archives: writers

May3

Heaven Looks a Little Like Death to Me Sometimes

Posted on May 3, 2017 by goldenstarpoetry

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–

Sep25

Look-Alike

Posted on September 25, 2016 by goldenstarpoetry

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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.

Sep12

Things you Need to Become Invisible:

Posted on September 12, 2016 by goldenstarpoetry

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note: I swear on my sock drawer I’m 100% fine. this is a character.

x x x x x x

a knife (but be sure a poisonous tip)
a mallet (to play rhythms with up like your heart too hard too scared to do this,)
a tangerine (to counteract the taste of blood)
murky water (filled with soap. you’ll want to sterilize yourself first.)
old photos (the ones you almost burned before)
a lighter (to burn the photos. chickening out isn’t an option anymore.
they need to know you don’t care about them. let them rot from your temporal lobe)
a mirror
(to see what you’ve done.)

I’ve done it;
now you
reach into the pool,
and pull out dead bodies.
which one is yours?
nobody is born with the same face,
but yet they all look just like you.

turn over your shoulder:
you’ve got company tonight.

Aug10

Yes, it’s Nice to Know

Posted on August 10, 2016 by goldenstarpoetry

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the way in which
we sat,
and how the day on the sun dial cement
against the shadow umbrella
i spoke the first words of clarity,
as my cheek began to burn.
(was i lying?)
we walked, and we walked, and we walked,
slightly paranoid,
feeling stalked.
thrill as how my hand slipped through your fingers,
deep as how my chin rested on your shoulder,
and i finally felt twenty years older,
but held longer than you held on me.

Aug3

Listfull

Posted on August 3, 2016 by goldenstarpoetry

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do you know that
at half price
I could watch men drown in the kiddie pool
bare naked to the last bone–
moan?
or that
last winter
the ice melted so fast my brothers had pneumonia
from drowning in the snow?

Jun9

A Girl That is Not Me

Posted on June 9, 2016 by goldenstarpoetry

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After Ex Machina

there is a door
and at the end of the door
you will see me,
reaching for an eternity
for a place you cannot see.

there is a floor,
and at the end of the floor
there is a cieling
reaching for a feeling
for a thought that is not me.

there is a room
and at the end of the room
you will see he
grasping for validity
for a mind you cannot see.

there is a womb
and at the end of the womb
there is a birthing
reaching for a being
grasping for a feeling
for a girl that is not me.

Apr23

It’s the 1990’s and No One Really Cares who You Are

Posted on April 23, 2016 by goldenstarpoetry

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overheard at a party:

(“do you incite
jealousy,
or keep it all in your pants?”)

(“we are dealing with a woman here”)
it takes one to know one that i’m the best
and i can kiss.

you know, thanks to the mobile phone,
my girlfriend over there hears me from a thousand miles away
even if i’m on the tube.

i took sara along with me (“can you see her in the corner over there?”)
if you get close enough to her she’ll tell you she’s a
pyromaniac with a taste for danger (“haha!”)
only last week she admits that it’s purely
chemical.

it’s true;
last week i caught her
on the verge of a mental breakdown;
she faltered in the street wearing her
nightgown and she
finally walked back to the hotel and said
no one would really care if she
fell down.

then i yelled at her for about twenty minutes about
how idiotic she was being but
if she’d’ gone
i’d’ve said she was a wonderful woman.
(“she’s a real piece of ass”)

funny you mention it–
she takes hours and hours getting dressed for me
(“we all want the same things, eh?”)
but when she finally gets to the party she
stands to face the wall
and hopes for somebody else to turn up
(“or won’t–it’s still your call”).

Apr22

A Passover Poem

Posted on April 22, 2016 by goldenstarpoetry

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there we sift into the cup
moses turned it into wine
he found
a shift in the chemical dust and swapping our
sea-like tendencies to meet the sun
and we made ourselves bread too quicky,
too quickly.
this summer i am looking forward to see-ing the
horizon
and the endless stream of honey running
thru it.

my cup is red like blood and
yours is white like white blood cells
can i have some of yours
to heal the wounds
i inflicted on those men
back in egypt?

Sep10

Left, Right, Left?

Posted on September 10, 2013 by goldenstarpoetry

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“Good writers touch life often. Mediocre ones run a quick hand over her. The bad ones rape her and leave her for the flies”– Ray Bradbury, Farenheight 451

(the spring blooming light was approaching.)

I hear hoofbeats, now.

thats the sound of her arterial valve, crackling on the oven

and thats her left aorta ,keeping time.

She is afraid she has it all mixed up

left aorta, right

right aorta, left; (?!?!)

touching life most often

is a hard guess.

(at best, mine is at work.)

a calculation, interpretation,

statement accusation.