The Passover

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on July 14, 2018 by malartart

I passed it over, over to you

                                        you

                                        passed it back

                                                            to me

one hot potato that will never cool

passive aggressively

                                 passed it down the

                                                             line

hold in their hands, holding

                                    their head in their hands

always, always theirs                                                no, no

                                                                                       escape

                                              it’s hereditary

Advertisements

not now

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on July 12, 2018 by malartart

only hope will let you down

karma’s not coming back around

promises won’t be kept

helping others remains a debt

revenge is but a dream

just a wish writ obscene

here and now is not a time

the past & future can’t align

carrying goals is a dead weight

no such thing as fortune or fate

                      tomorrow’s bygone

                        defeat at the dawn

                   cut off from the start

only hope can break your heart

will forever come?

Posted in poetry with tags , , on July 9, 2018 by malartart

when the beginning

never began

and the end

is forever here

when the point of life

is views

hideaway, hideaway

when standing for yourself

reframes your purity

lie low, lie low

when life takes a turn

for the best

and the beat that is

the breath

slows to a stop

we are atomized

into perpetuity

where we will be

permitted to

permeate

permanently

Thesaurus Rex

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on July 5, 2018 by malartart

Jagged edges—

Cut up in their prime—

Defined ridges are sharp tongues—

Meaning changes in the jaws of serpents—

All these escaped apes remind me of someone I knew—

sounds slip from lips

but in no known language

so, look down and take things into your hands

and dismantle your head

nose into a good book

teeth into a tender tale

the Muse’s eyes have it

permanently looking for an exit

consume contrived conflict for the common people

and the bloody-minded bourgeois:

holy confirms plot-holes

lilith confutes eve

gospel contradicts gospel

chicken comes much later than egg

lizards’ flesh lay open as a narrative sacrifice

 deservedly commemorated in

their own earthbound anthology

tl;dr—A.A.

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on July 1, 2018 by malartart

                                too many steps (twelve in all)

                          but Greene had Thirty-Nine—

              and did very well with them as far

      as history is concerned; historically

                             this Big Book ain’t so big

      No bigger than the Testaments (old & new)

               No more useful than the Koran

                     No more meaningful then The Satanic Bible

                         No less important than a well told bedtime story

 

yes yes fucker yes you cocksucker—before and after—yes im fresh yes yes ill tell it like it is and confound and offend in equal measure as long as the measures arnt in pints and from top shelf bottles

(there’s love; defiantly radiant —Absolute Affinity)

The Human Condition Has Been Sent Away For Repairs

Posted in poetry with tags , , on June 28, 2018 by malartart

Nothing sadder than a dead website

Around the neck like a dead weight

Non-existing in dead space-time

Should you be wiped from existence?

Lose all those precious digi-memories

Kill the past to save the future

Kill your darlings and the motherboard

Killswitch and move right along

Delete personal history/ turn yourself off

But nothing is ever truly gone

From the sea of flesh circuitry

From the net of the live web

From the tales told by others

From the smiles you left on their lips

Coldest Summer on Record

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on June 27, 2018 by malartart

Steamed windows, no view’s ever certain

Streams of Spring showers late

Could be the smell of bread

Or the kitchen’s been abandoned

Taps stuck on no go

Catching drinks of dirty rain

Leave the pail in the doorway

Come away from mama’s shadow

Chance to dance between the droplets

Instead of holding them for ransom

Outside there’s a cool breeze

Coldest summer on record

%d bloggers like this: