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aayoung

Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Random Shit

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art

See Rock City

how far man has come
from the moment
we were a trillionth the size
of a mote of dust
sunbeam suspended
matter dancing out of existence on
antimatter stripper poles
super heated
into the biggest bang ever to blow
horny comets
into hadrons of extinct dinosaurs
dead shopping malls
kamikaze day traders
perched atop
financial district temples
sky diving down to
urine caked sidewalks
radicalized soccer moms
suicide bomb drum majors
high stepping into
Russian voting booths
and sheepy suburbanites
willing to eat hot artichokes

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.

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

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

no elegy

no elegy

for me, please

i plan to die

with laugh lines

contentment & vine

when you find the corner

of contentment & vine

chaos comes as a dark-eyed lover

yellow cab splashing

through the crosswalk puddle

leaving you nothing but dripping regrets

and the keys to an apartment building

still burning

uprooted

you can sit at a table

drinking wine

palms flat to the wood

without remembering

that table was ever a tree

but my heart will never forget

it bled for you

once

struggling mites of the planet

standing in the shower

this morning

i saw a spider die fighting

against the current of water

and i thought to myself

i could write a few lines for that lost arachnid

his own rime of the ancient mariner

an ode to the minutiae

the miniscule struggling mites of the planet

but what’s the fucking point of flowery conjecture

regarding what does and doesn’t matter

i can’t save him with words

or write an appropriate memorial

nor can i save

a gassed syrian baby

or a woman standing

in the way of an exploding madman panel truck

the waning poet in me cries out for a god

who stood us up

who split with our luggage

who never checked in

at the hotel airport

yeah, i could write a poem

if i remembered

what a poet is

what’s more poetic

than a poet

who doesn’t

feel like a poet

anymore

 

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