April 2011
2 posts
Florence + The Machine - My Boy Builds Coffins
March 2011
1 post
January 2011
6 posts
Sony takes PS3 hackers to court →
WatchMetric Mondays Open Mic January 10, 2011
WatchChad Anderson featuring at Metric Mondays in Indianapolis!
June 2010
1 post
April 2010
2 posts
30/30
We were teenaged and trembling
Had you known 7 years from then
you were holding hands with would be a poet
You would have held your breath instead
30/30
Lately you are partial to cemeteries
Stacks of papyrus and fists full of charcoal
you trace our names from one end of the fence to the next
Slide them under my door as if to say
We have tried this in past lives
we failed every time
You have a mouth like a shovel
I am thumbing the yellow pages for gravediggers and morticians
to embalm me full of forgetfulness
and place me in an unmarked...
October 2009
2 posts
Tequila Rose
On a spring morning aged the color of elderly
With the last frost from winter
We were the children of Valentine’s day kamikaze bouquets
Between the cheese grater fence teeth of the house above
We turn to each other and say
My father was a propeller and my mother a cockpit
In WWII they escorted bomber hearts
Til a woman threw them off a dock filled to high tide with waiting and...
Boy Scouts
Boys will be boys
As long as we get our man guides early enough
The cover is a menagerie of fire trucks mudpies action figure dolls
Scraped knees elbow casts bruise colored makeup
Chapter 1
Leashes
Put them around skirts
Put them around car engines
Put the engines in the skirt and tell her to keep moving
These are lessons on momentum
Panties are trifold displays on gravity
Look from...
September 2009
10 posts
www.intangiblecollective.com
kneepits:
intangiblecollective:
become a fan of the INTANGIBLE COLLECTIVE on facebook. right now.
JIM MCGARRAH
Out of Focus
In ‘69, I met a wild-haired man named Reggie
who walked an empty dog collar on a stiff leash,
who prowled the savage island between adolescence and adulthood,
popping Dexedrine, swilling Ripple, talking baby talk
to the dog collar. “Gude poochie. Poochie poochie hoochie coo.”
Reggie was ill, contracting attention deficit from a whore
years before it became a...
To MLK Jr. From Dad
Dear son
I didn’t intend to raise a martyr
I regret reading Joan of Arc to you at bedtime
And turning off all of the lights
So you could become accustomed to the darkness
In hopes that one day your sacrament would elevate you beyond a pulpit
You will have to excuse me
I come from a place where many speak of God
But never on a first name basis
I shuffled through my bible today
I...
Courtney Love
A love letter to Love.
comma Courtney
You are what every rockstar who gets a period aspired to be
And what britney spears lacked the steady supplier to go through with
If Marilyn Monroe had an oval office dress
You’d be the unexplainable pit stain
You cokewhore diva needle goddess
Heroin harlot angel dust housemaid
Alcoholic beach towel
Fuck you are awesome
If keith richard’s...
She is gripping her purse tighter these days
Her fingertips indented from the beads glued to its shell
She is also walking faster
As if she were late to meetings that always start early
And her alarm clock is in love with watching her sleep
She is a busy woman
The curls of her hair are holding question marks
Left by hands that wonder what they feel like
She never straightens it
She is...
My grandmother is old fashioned
She keeps coupons
Can’t use a cd player
And hates loud music
She likes hot water cornbread
And rose bushes
She fears God
We don’t speak much these days
At least nothing past the way we hangup on telemarketers
We don’t have much in common
I hate political parties
And have white friends
Her feet are still looking for segregated...
You were called a genius
You were called a leader
A traitor
An uncle tom
And worst of all a disgrace
Your avarice for a country that could shake the chains from its wrists was a footnote
From a book coated in dust the day after its first print
The author thought Dubois was right
He never saw the school you built
He never saw the home you built for your wife
You made the ceilings and...
I drink whiskey because of you
It is how we pass the time between stories
Of how if you were a good girlfriend
You would have stopped him from pulling the trigger
It always ends with your tears
I wait for them
I can see poetry in your pain
And think
What a monster lies within me
You imagine yourself a spinster someday
And have already accepted the solitude
So you clutch a plastic...
Part of me thinks we will look back on this and laugh
It seems like one of those instances
The way a bad experience becomes a fond memory
Years after the rust has thickened into scabs
Yes there will be a scar
Its shape will be determined by letters piled in boxes
Neither of us are fond of digging up ghosts
So I imagine there will be a zigzag line just left to the center of our chests
...
Some of them come back crawling
Sleep in their parent’s arms for a crib
And suck bottles of alcohol
They wear flags for bibs
And drool gunpowder
Therapy sessions are just changing diapers
Some shit don’t come clean
They tend to throw their food at the dinner table
Shape their apple sauce into sand dunes
Use the spaghetti for road maps
Wear fruit cups like helmets
And try to...
August 2009
8 posts
Day 1
They came like a swarm of locusts
We could hear the swell of their footfalls
Smell the unrest in the air
Finally we heard their song
a lulling moan resonating against our windows
We call it Satan’s Tail now
It began with the children
Playground chants of hopscotch and hand claps
Dissolved into ruptured echoes of screams
And the most painful laughter I have ever heard
For a matter...
July 2009
98 posts
From "Sawdust Sandals"
“So this is what death feels like. How exquisite. It feels like I am floating, not on air, but in water. Something that feels just as feeble as I am, yet still holds me up. I have no regrets. I said all that needed to be said. I did most of what I wanted, but all that I needed to. In the beginning I said that I prayed for my revenge. That I would command the armies of God, or Devil,...
“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners...”
– Marcel Proust
(via kari-shma) (via maluna)
