Surrounding myself with ancient friends Wisdom & experiences laid upon my shelf Bare for all to quietly consume Providing a chance for a better version of self
Absorbing past lives without pause Silhouettes of women from long ago Angst from existential rights in time Visions of dreams I wish to forgo
These books are mere placeholders For the contents of my heart upon hardwood Gentle reminders of our former intellect & the hope we might return to being good
Plastering the interweb with fragmented thought
Cultivating an insane kind of fame
Convincing an illiterate society
That you’re more than just a silly name
Penning out frivolously piddly odes
Basking in the lack of their attention span
Trying so hard to be cool, plus
Your slams make me not want to give a damn
The barely legible equivalent of an Insta-model
Don’t you know, writers write & speakers squeak
A farce played out in bits & bytes
Preying on the vapid, the stupid & the weak
You’ve grown your hipster beard
You fancy yourself as suave & dapper
But I know your dirty little secret
That you’re no PaRappa the Rapper
Disturbed themes & distant thrombosis A hitch in your giddy-up when it’s time for tea Transcendental visitations From dreams may come answers to our makeshift reality
Pouring over the brackish tomes with devotion Gentlemen & ladies of letters; luminaries of thought But truth doesn’t cure our limited capacities Bare harbingers of the illiterations we’ve wrought
We’ve taken ill in our posh-marked libraries Leaving fingerprints on memories we loved the most We maunder through our raging debates Knowing full well they’re all books about ghosts
Darkness creeps in on our musty resolve Syntax prescribed with an utmost surgical query Descending by the light of our candelabra If we survive, we’ll be counted amidst the weary
The illustrious words of Hunter (the elder)
We ante’d more than our parents’ share
Broken cups of mottled modeling clay
Abstinence leaving you lonely & bare
Chanting Yeats without a voice
A rye smile at the lively night’s end
Cocktail girls when only a wife will do
Looking to the heavens to make amends
Time is failing on a tractional level
Bleak mornings to come calling back
Needing to move without giving notice
Resurrection only possible with coffee this black
Daylight creaking up over the Atlantic First light’s rays struggling over the sea My bones seem to have a bit of rust Better lubricate with some more coffee
Dancing upon the shores of the St. John’s We don’t need carpets; red or otherwise We only need our bare skin to touch Ending with me whispering between your thighs
There’s something to be said for going outside
Wallowing in the dirt, smearing it on your skin
Returning your soul to the Earth, to be truly free
There’s only one life; you’ve got to get it in
Remove society’s reign over your instincts
Dance unhindered; strip & frolic completely bare
Be at peace with the natural world’s glory
Stand proudly and let your nips feel the Spring air
Gimme a minute till I look pretty I don’t want to go out there without my cologne I can’t deal with the sketchy people You know, they’ve hidden away all the pay phones I don’t trust the Gov’t hiding behind rain coats The shadows are weary with their demodulation Open your windows to the rain – expect justice I shall bare my raw breast in hopes of emotional rehabilitation