Pen 'N' inC

iuno, but this relates to me for some reason, and i thought i'd share it until with you until i got my poems together, because they are in my mom's car right now and i dont wanna go out there considering it's 1:20am.. so yea.. here ya go.. since i never update and bex does...

palm trees

sway

My hands

in yours

Rest against

your chest

Ocean waves

roar, crashing

Our love

eternal

Hopes, dreaming

forever you.

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
--electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountain range; lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.

A world of made
is not a world of born--pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. we doctors know

a hopeless case if--listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go

Your world is a lie
Molded by your weakness into a hollow plastic animal you bought from a machine at the zoo as a child.
Naïve fingers worrying across the seams until they’re worn away,
Out of sight
Out of mind
You go to school,
Go to work,
And pray for things you don’t have.
You’re careful not to stray across the bad part of town.
You drop your kids at the door
Instead of letting them walk to school.
You’ve got full coverage on the house and car.
You’re careful not to say the wrong thing to the boss,
And take night classes just in case.
A dead bolt on the door,
A night light in the hall,
And Spot at the foot of the bed.
You voted for Bush
Talk gun control,
Complain about the violence on T.V.
You’ve got a dentist appointment on Tuesday.
You wear a rubber when you fool around.
And wipe your ass with recycled toilet paper.

Hey…
Maybe you didn’t notice this as you flipped through the latest issue of Newsweek with its color photos of dead men in Africa
But Jesus doesn’t give a shit about you anyway
Bad things happen to good people
Everyday
For no reason.

Have you ever listened to the wind
Whistle through an old car wreak,
Not knowing what’s blood
Or rust?
Eight months gone,
And I still don’t know,
That desolate moan
Always with me.
I try not to think about it
As I travel midnight highways,
Sleep on borrowed floors,
Rent by the hour beds,
Bummin’ that last drink for the road.
Been playing against a loaded deck too long.
A shade walks my footsteps,
A ghost wearing my face.
Too familiar with the taste
Of my own blood,
I know I’m going down.
A done deal.
With grave dirt breath,
Tombstone lust,
And a bitter smile stapled to my soul,
Gravity takes me.

-bex-