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aayoung

Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Random Shit

My poetry is being held for questioning…

My poetry is irreverent, prone to sentimentality, and prurient behavior.

My poetry hates your mother.

My poetry worships humanity.

My poetry stuck a finger in your wedding cake.

My poetry made a blonde girl cry in Starbucks.

My poetry wants to overthrow the government.

My poetry misses her father.

My poetry screwed your sister in the back of a Chevrolet.

My poetry can’t sing, but she can dance, baby.

My poetry took a shit in your designer handbag.

My poetry is piss shiver art.

My poetry laughs too loudly.

My poetry thinks god has run out of excuses.

My poetry weeps for the dying world.

But mostly,

My poetry hopes

you’re enjoying the ride.

of mountains burning

while we were together
by the ocean
i was certain
i could smell a trace
of mountains burning
in the distance
redwood crackle
pine sap boiling
wide eyed coyotes running
our future reduced
to ashes and hemoglobin
i was not mistaken
darling

simply because…it’s tuesday

there are moments when the house

aches with his absence

as do i

my frank sinatra singing in our shower

i find myself sweetly seeking him

feet sliding into his house slippers

fingers slowly uncapping his beard oil

the tines of his sandalwood comb

face burrowed into his pillow

the scent of his shirt collar against my lips

not because he’s been gone long

because i have never felt love like this before

simply because…it’s tuesday

 

 

 

 

 

no substitutions, please…

shame comes staggering

unwelcome

through the bedroom door

when i consider the horrors

i once chose

to call love

america the dutiful

when we are unwilling
to sacrifice for the greater good
the greater good
becomes the sacrifice

city confidential

i’m guilty
of compartmentalizing
my life
no one will know each other
at my funeral
Robert Stack will narrate
the unsolved mysteries
there will be several unknown
oddly distraught
handsome gentlemen
friends from all over
and family
who will conduct it
like a senate hearing

my lip gloss

every part of you
should taste
of it

no elegy

no elegy

for me, please

i plan to die

with laugh lines

electric bills and birthday candles

it would be all too easy
to allow life
to become a collection of
electric bills and birthday candles
trips to the market
couch bound tuesday nights
not enough for me
i desire adventurous books
sunrises over roman holidays
redemptive music
heroines doe eyed welling
on silvery screens
most importantly
an imperfect lover
whom i love
perfectly

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