Some more (hopefully not awful) poetry

Suits

Mine;
Ruffled about my elbows,
Still creased to previous owner’s shoulders,
Mother-tailored, thread not quite matching,
Loose in the waist, old belt over draw
Ballooning out the legs.
Only $50 dollars at the thrift store.

Across the cold and dark table,
Theirs;
Slim, fitting, immaculate.
Made in Italy, Genoa, France, Singapore,
Anywhere but here.
Pressed and Dry-Cleaned.
They begin:
“So what are your qualifications?”

AJM

Some (hopefully not awful) Poetry

The World’s Great Scab

Cutting itself deep
world’s blood drawn
land blackened, hard
Never healing

Moans, grunting
flakes tear at one another
Wails, shrieking pink flesh
bared raw

Congealing bleeding hardening bleeding again
tirelessly, the great scab claws at its self
starving, depleting the world
Never healing

Blessings gifts, regretted
Stars’ tears boil
on backs of the scab
it roams spreads virulent

Billion legged, toothed, fisted beast
self mutilating, plaguing all the earth
Were that God never spoke its name,
Adam.

Karaoke Night

Ice cubes dance in brown and clear liquors
Beneath faces shadowed by overdrawn collars.
Deafening off key lyrics reflecting
shimmering like broken glass,
Fist clenched she bellows a eulogy
To the may haves and never were.
Wrung out melodies unmasked by the dim lighting.
Wraiths, shadows of memory, dance on the walls
Jubilations reserved exclusively for these
Beings of the past,
Mocking the living statues cemented to the bar
A final wail beneath the decrescendo
The music dies.
The absence of applause.


A moment of silence for the departed.

An Audience, You: The Potential of

Alright, well I have a blog now. Why? Good question. It has come to my attention that my best writing, thinking, eating, lying, sinning, and damn near everything else I do comes about when their is an audience involved. So it is in that spirit that I have created this. I hope that you, the audience, or perhaps better yet the potential of an audience, will compel me to continue to write and to give me cause. 

I don't have a terrible amount to write about at the moment, even less of it merits anything that I suspect you would enjoy. But a Jack Kerouac quote has been tumbling through the cervices in the space behind my eyes for some time now and it is the quote for which this blog has been named; so is rightly appropriate perhaps then to introduce it.

"the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!'" -- Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time. Let's burn.

AJM