poetry
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Bathing with Sylvia Before we met we both knew how it ended It’s a well-worn path To the edge of the abyss I know it well As a yo-yo knows the string. We row out to the edge of our oblivion The cyclones dance at the edge of the void. A snatch of the wrist
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Death Is Coming “You can run, but you’ll just die tired.” -The Grim Reaper Death is the bull queer in the jail house of life Whose soul purpose is to sodomize us all. While we run from this reality with sensual distraction death is here to bugger us all. Yeah, death is here to fuck
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“I Predict Pain” -Clubber Lang I’d been training hard every day for a year and had bruised the ribs of Marines twice the size of the tall drink of water in the opposite corner. Figured I’d punch a hole through this skinny kid from New York. My corner man tells me to be careful “
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One Of Us Will Have To Die The straight rusty razor trembles in a hand that shakes as if it belonged to a wino with the D. T.s. It’s impossible to shave when I’m invisible in mirrors and all I see is his face haunting me like a hungry ghost in old black and white
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Wick for j. d. If you, will be my candle I will be your wick. I will burn myself in effigy To be the flame dancing in your eyes. Whose translucent blood colored tongues morph to taste the sweetness in your salts. as my wick grows thick with your molten essence beneath me your solid
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The Death Of Cool I propose that we initiate the death of cool “The good that men do is oft interred with their bones.” So let it be with cool. Let cool go the way of neat-o, far out, and groovy. Let’s kill cool.
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A Season in Heaven I was not always who I am now Once I existed entombed in a sarcophagus Of rotting meat a malfunctioning synthetic heart of pathos Sadness pushed sanguine rage through bloodless veins Then one day I saw one of them Walk into the room and sit amongst us Dark haired and dark
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Gravity -after Renee Maria Rilke I live my life in decaying orbits Pulling out of the death spiral to swan dive Through the center of the dark hub of the Morning Stars Hell Gate When I was a child, I circled around the cosmos Circle shrinking in the dryer Circling the moon and a
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American Haiku Being a psychopath has never stopped me from writing a good poem.
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“I’m Just Here For The Beer And The Bitches” I don’t have time to bullshit with the crush bone blonde. Fading tribal tattoo wrapped around her bicep. Who interrupts my drunken scrawling!? To tell me… my poems rock. Listen lady, I’m not a whore for applause I’m a poet, a literary slut. I’m not here
Joey Cloudy online 