strawberries
Current mood: determined
Category: Writing and Poetry

not recalling the last time I'd eaten,
I decided it was probably time.
at the local deli,
I skipped the sandwich line,

"a bowl of chili with cheese, please"

I paid, and was handed my bowl,
and a spoon,
on a tray.

I asked the cute hispanic
girl
who handed me my bowl,
"got tabasco sauce?"

she did, then I did,
after we shared a smile.

holding my tray, waiting
for someone to move so I
could find somewhere to sit,
a cute blonde eyed my bowl,
and said,
"that chili looks GOOD."

"it's not GOOD," I replied,
"it's FANTASTIC,"
(this wasn't my first bowl here)
and smiled at her, while
admiring her full,
red lipsticked,
luscious lips.

other than legs, lips
are the first thing I notice
on a
woman,
and she was wearing pants
(though they appeared to be
covering FANTASTIC legs
that ascended to a NICE round ass).

"hey, Jenny,
(or Kate, or Amy, or Wendy-
I didn't really listen)
doesn't that chili look
GOOD?"

but it was already too late, as
the person blocking my way
had moved, and I was on
my way
to a table:
I was really looking forward
to my bowl of chili,
or I'd have stayed to flirt.

I grabbed a stack of
packaged crackers,
and sat down at a table,
propped open a Bukowski book,
(one of his worst)
doused my chili in Tabasco,
and started reading and eating-
in that order.

I forgot napkins, and
had to get up, trusting
old Bukowski to watch my bowl,
crackers, and spoon.

when I came back to my table,
I heard the red lipped blonde
saying how much she loved poetry,
as the other 3 girls
collectively shook their heads
in disgust.

(I guess it's better to be
disgusted by something, than
to have no opinion at all)

she turned to face me,
as we had sat in opposite
directions,
and asked, coyly,
while glancing at the book,
"you like poetry, huh?"

"not really, but I can't seem
to stop reading or writing it,"
I answered, never taking my
eyes off of her lips
(she didn't seem to mind)

I was expecting her to ask
who I was reading,
or what I was reading,
or any such trivial
conversation, but I got
no more words.

"fine by me", I thought,
as her lips looked better
on a mouth that was closed.

another minute passed,
and
she stood up, and asked
to trade seats with
one of her lunchmates
(Beth, or Rachel, or Julie,
I didn't really care)
who wordlessly complied.

(I think something
passed
between their eyes)

so then,
the red lipped blonde
was directly facing me,
and I, her.
I kept eating,
and reading,
trying to not appear
too interested.
though,
I had already decided,
fuck the chili,
and fuck Bukowski:

this girl had FUCK-me lips,
and I only like Chuck's poetry,
not his lips,
and the chili had no lips at all.

all of a sudden, I
realized what the lippy blonde
was up to.

she was staring,
unabashedly,
at me,
while eating.

normally, that would be
quite creepy.

but it wasn't the fact
that she was eating,
and staring at me, that
did me in.

she had a plate full
of fresh strawberries,
and a cup full of some
thick white creamy sauce
to dip them in.
and she dipped, slowly,
carefully holding
each strawberry,
spinning it in the
sugary cream.

and when she pulled them out,
she would hold them about
6 inches
above the cup,
still,
slowly spinning them,
until they stopped
dripping.

then, while still staring at me,
she would hold each one, for
an extended period,
in front of her mouth,
sizing them up,
before,
finally,
(oh my god)
finally,
she would take a bite;

these were not normal bites,
though. she would hold the sugar-
coated strawberry, just a little,
just a little,
above her mouth, so that,
in order to take a bite,
she had to cock her head
slightly backwards,
(still staring at me, staring at her)
and approach the
strawberry
from below,
as if someone else was feeding
them to her.

to top the whole act off,
she didn't begin the bite
with her teeth.
she approached
so
slowly,
creepingly, and
would put the end of it in her mouth,
close her lips tightly around it,
passionately suck and lick
all the cream off of it,
and then,
only then,
take a bite.

a red lipped blonde,
with hidden legs and ass,
found her own way, to
fuck me, there, in public,
at lunch. and she fucked me
GOOD.

when she finished her
strawberries and began on
her sandwich, I lost interest,
and got back to Chili with Charles.
and, when she got up,
to leave,
she said to me as she passed,
"the strawberries are FANTASTIC."

I think I was supposed to
ask for a phone number,
or give her mine,
but I didn't want to talk to
her. I didn't even really
want to fuck her.

I just wanted to feed her
strawberries,
and stare at her lips.

I wonder, now, if that
was exactly what she wanted,
too.

Currently listening : Into the Wild By Eddie Vedder Release date: 2007-11-05

6:25 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

you wrought me
Current mood: sleepy
Category: Writing and Poetry

for Anna, baby i miss you so much






i didn't even write myself,
you wrought me-
ironclad, soot soaked, open faced,
one daydream.

you showed me the dusked flame sunset-
i bought you
a ticket to the final dance,
my debut.

we could've danced till bright sunrise.
you taught me,
to spin, to twirl, to take the floor,
rue nothing.

our passion usurped everything,
but left an empty well of blue.

Currently listening : Cassadaga By Bright Eyes Release date: 10 April, 2007

11:40 PM - 39 Comments - 38 Kudos - Add Comment

almost killed (by) some white trash
Current mood: animated

almost killed some white trash
(almost killed by some white trash)

A true story (prose, not poetry) from the annals of one ClockWork poet.







I don't recall when this happened, exactly. It was sometime after I broke up with my eX of five years, is all I know for sure, which means sometime around late 2005, early 2006. And it was cold, bitterly cold. I was hanging out with two of my friends, and one of their girlfriends. We decided we wanted some Sushi, and, opted for the half mile walk, instead of driving. The sushi was fantastic. I had some raw scallops that were mind blowing.

Afterwards, we slowly began the walk back home. On the way, walking through southside, just past 5 points south, the story began in earnest.

Two black guys, with their two black dates, were walking, hand in hand, talking, and laughing. They were heading for the upside down plaza, apparently. From behind them came a squad of dirty looking, grungy, white folk. Ten of them in total, six guys and four girls, none over twenty five years old, none younger than nineteen. I watched both groups, when all of a sudden, the apparent ringleader of the white group, turned, and spat at the black group, and screamed "fucking NIGGERs."

One of the guys I was walking with looked at me, and said, "oh... shIT." I looked at him, shook my head, and began walking over to the group. My friends grabbed me by the belt, and begged me not to do what I was about to do. I ripped the hands off of me, and headed over to the action. None of my group followed me; hell, they started to head back towards their house. So it goes.

By the time I made it across the street, the black guy who got spat on turns to the other black guy, and growled in a primal howl, "man, it's not worth it." I tended to disagree. They descended into the upside down plaza, leaving me to fend for myself, quite literally.

"I know you didn't just spit at them, and call them niggers," I said, in the most reserved and respectful voice I could muster, my spirit shaking me to the bones, the whole while.

"Look what we've got here, guys, a NIGGER LOVER," the ringleader spewed through vitriolic lips. "Are you a NIGGER LOVER?"

At this point, I was already completely filled with adrenaline, and I could feel my heart racing towards the point of no return. My medulla oblongata had already done all of its fight-or-flight calculating. Fight, it turned out, was it's response. Again, so it goes.

I responded, "I love everyone, except racist fucking bigots, and white trash, like yourselves."

The ringleader's eyes got huge, and the implications were obvious; a circle had formed around us, the girls at the back. The ringleader was eye to eye, toe to toe, with me, and the other guys were all waiting to take cheap shots. Their intent was transparent. I believe mine was, too.

"You are about to get the biggest beating of your life, NIGGER LOVER," he said through a forced smile.

"I'm gonna give as good as I get, douchebag, make a fucking move," I said, as I quietly slipped my hand into my pocket, removed the spyderco pocket knife, and opened the blade, hiding it behind my index and middle fingers. At this point in my life, I had already spent a good week of my life in the Jefferson County slammer (including my 22nd birthday), and I had that "I've got nothing to lose" state of mind. I figured, some of us were going to the hospital, maybe the morgue, and most certainly jail. Yea, so it goes.

They still hadn't noticed that I'd pulled a knife, and I didn't intend on making the first move. I was outnumbered ten to one, after I had counted on it being an even fight (me and my friends and the black group, versus the white trash). Alas, I was alone, and surrounded. And the white trash girls looked as eager to kick my ass as did the guys. I'm sure I would have received multiple kicks to the head from their shit-kicker boots. So, I was acutely aware of everything happening around me, painfully aware. The ringleader slowly two stepped his way towards me, closing the distance, getting in arms reach, as he planned the first punch.

Out of nowhere- I suppose I missed it because I was so intent on anticipating the first punch- a hand grabbed me by the belt. I turned, knife in hand, thinking that one of the bigots had circled around for a cheap shot. It was one of my friends, and he pulled me so hard, I almost fell over, and said, very loudly, "Nick, lets go." I stood there for another half minute, weighing my options, and decided that I wanted neither my death, nor the death of any of the people around me, scum though they were. I followed my friends, and the bigots let me leave, saying something like "hahaha, watch the nigger lover run away."

I walked with my friends back to their house, silently, grinding my teeth, clenching my fists, trying to help the adrenaline subside. It didn't help. We got back to their house, and I went upstairs, and grabbed my keys, and said, "I'm going home."

"Awwwwww, it's not even midnight. Hang out! Smoke! Drink! Listen to music!" one of them said.

"Not a chance. I almost killed people tonight. Almost got killed. I'll see you guys later", I said, and drove myself home.

I almost killed some white trash that night. Came so close that it haunts me, to this day. To think that I am capable of anything of the sort, is really quite unsettling. And, I almost GOT killed by some white trash that night. That part doesn't haunt me one bit, not one iota.


Letting my friends drag me out of the fight-circle, now that, THAT, kills me, still. I should be dead.

Currently listening : Rage Against the Machine By Rage Against the Machine Release date: 10 November, 1992

11:14 PM - 27 Comments - 24 Kudos - Add Comment

fuck me
Current mood: smelly
Category: smelly Writing and Poetry

you smell like you haven't bathed in weeks,
like you've forgotten what deodorant is,
like a whore after a long night of work.

yea...

what do you do, here, anyway?
write those awful poems,
read those worthless books,
paint those ugly paintings,
and drink, drink, drink?
is that all you do?

yea... and, apparently, smell bad.

yea, you smell awful.
on top
of it all,
you smell awful.

yea...

what does that say about you?
you never bathe,
never work,
rarely eat,
constantly drink,
and accomplish nothing.
what does that say about you?

a lot, but, you, you
point out how awful i am,
how bad i smell,
how much worth i do not have,
and,
still,
somehow,
are here to fuck me.


what does that say about you?

Currently listening : Fevers and Mirrors By Bright Eyes Release date: 30 May, 2000

11:26 PM - 26 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

ring... click
Current mood: annoyed
Category: Writing and Poetry

ring... ring... ring...

yea?

hey, I'm lonely, and broke,
and need a few pick me ups.
wanna get drunk and fuck?

yea... you coming over here,
or do I have to drive across town?

well, I don't even have enough
money
to fill the tank up.

oh. ok... i'll pass, then.


what?


i said, i'll pass.


click.

Currently reading : Dangling in the Tournefortia By Charles Bukowski Release date: 05 June, 2002

11:33 AM - 16 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

simon
Current mood: animated
Category: Writing and Poetry

not worthy of its subject, a quiet 5 minute write, but i thought i'd post it. this is for you, Si.





simon,
  patron saint of electric poetry,
 
 
i chant an ancient icantation,
my spirit burns brighter,
i cast mused poetic spells,
  bind them around my love,
i spend what my soul has earned,
  wages, minimal, over drawn out time,
my heart clenches, spoons, caresses,
  each line you recite,
my mind twists, turns, envelops,
  quite in spite
    of
      my longings.
     
simon,
  eternal wall around the un-suroundable,


i cry,
i shudder,
i shake.

i die,
i'm under
your make.


simon,
  martyr of the modern death,
 


i chant an ancient incantation,
  a monk's cantos,
i spit, i sputter, i stare,
my conciousness falters,
  and i smile,


smile.

Currently listening : Quality By Talib Kweli Release date: 19 November, 2002

9:20 PM - 17 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

all i thought
Current mood: curious
Category: Writing and Poetry

tell me the things you love the most,
the things you are passionate about,
  i said,
and he gave me a
thoughtful,
articulate,
response.

all in the list were wonderful,
just causes:
respectable,
intellectual,
moral,
but utterly devoid of passion-
and women, in general,
and his wife, specifically,
were never mentioned.

i see, i see,
i said, and nodded,

but,

i can't wait to meet your wife,
was all i thought.

Currently reading : The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses By Charles Bukowski Release date: 05 June, 2002

6:28 PM - 40 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment

cut me down
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Writing and Poetry

if you see me,
cut me down.

please, leave no limbs lying
uproot all beneath the soil
rake the leaves, cleave the trunk
deny the roots their striving

salt the ground where i grew
incinerate my remains
douse the fire, bag the ash
leave me where the cold wind blew



if you cut me,
lay me down.

please, tuck me in so tight
change the sheets, make the bed
turn the lights out on the night



if you lay me,
see me down.

sate my fire, quench my thirst
please, make sure that you leave first

Currently reading : Book of Longing By Leonard Cohen Release date: 29 May, 2007

11:09 PM - 15 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

ancient cadillac
Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry

quiet lips
subdue the passionately
forced words,
beat them to
submission,
throw them in
the trunk of an
ancient cadillac.

grins damp with
dimples
between
slick turns spin
tongues over curved
ridges,
leaving no trace,
no room for kicking,

delays,
soft,
longings,
distant embrace
remains
intimately
late-
soft longings
mute
all
screaming space.

ecstatic throws,
ripples of passion
in time,
roaming hands
draw
desirous tied
knots
tight,

pulse pounces,
white primal howl,
melodic,
rhythmic,
accelerated breathing,

bothered
final sighs,
exhaust
oxygen supplies-


the cadillac cries.

Currently listening : Shadows On The Sun By Brother Ali Release date: 27 May, 2003

1:33 AM - 21 Comments - 17 Kudos - Add Comment

six of seven
Current mood: touched
Category: Writing and Poetry

a crooked crutch for a concsience
leaning on borrowed cliches
blaming everything mystical
on god and his displays

pews of prayers to choose from
one transgression yet remains
six of seven deadly sins
lust still dances center stage

can't read words self-written
scratched in sand they quickly fade
and leave only a lying bed
no sheets to hide the shame

six of seven deadly sins
and only one to blame...

Currently listening : Frank By Amy Winehouse Release date: 20 November, 2007

1:33 AM - 27 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

Smiles
Current mood: drunk
Category: Writing and Poetry

at the DMV to get a replacement ID
(i'd lost mine the last weekend,
bar hopping)
the craziest shit unfolded

i was behind an old black man
in line-
20 ahead,
20 behind

i had guessed he had polio
in childhood-
left leg 6 inches shorter
than right,
a crutch,
and a wicked limp

smiled, always,
(smile to inspire the dead)
through the embarassment and pain,
but leaned on his crutch
and
the rail
that coralled us
into managable herds-

a guard demanded he stop
stop leaning on the rail-
he,
in his infinite acceptance,
complied;
unspoken,
uncontested,
he happily complied.
(smile to set the sun)

after a while,
he turned to me,
the only one who seemed to
empathize with his state,
and said,
"it sho would be nice to have a chair."

so, i headed to the back,
abandoning my spot in line,
grabbed a nice cushioned chair,
and brought it to him,
sat him down.
(smile to feed the hungry)

within 10 seconds, i had
2 guards,
1 with a firm hand clasped
on my arm-
1 who stared me down, and
demanded to know
"why,
why,
why would you do such a thing?
this is,
explicitly,
against the rules!!"

"well", i started,
and Smiles interrupted,
(smile to bring the rain)
"good Sir, I got congenital heart disease,
3 compressed discs in my back,
(and i ain't no thanksgiving turkey,
noone's a'carvin' on me,)
and i had polio as a child,
and i reckon i might pass out
if i stand much longer..."

the thugs replied,
"well, maybe you should take a rest outside,
until you are ready
to get back in the end of the line
and wait,
wait, and, wait,
for long enough to get your ID."

to say i rolled my eyes,
would be a total lie.
they swirled.

saw my only opening,
my only option,
so, i chattered back and forth
with the armed guards,
got the main one
off of my arm,
and bought the poor
old
guy
a little time.

after a few minutes,
he stood up, and
offered to stand,
chairless,
again.
i took the chair back,
and got back in line.

so, since everyone in line,
saw the happenings,
i expected everyone
in front,
to let him go first...

i shouldn't expect much of humans,
i suppose.

i had to stalk,
fucking stalk and stomp,
stomp and stalk,
soul a'fire,
to the front of the line,
to beg,
yea, no shit, to
fucking beg-
beg these lost souls
to let this man go first.

and they rolled their eyes at me,
or swirled, or whirled,
or blasted,
them at me,
and only after much coercion,
did they succumb,


i almost punched a few of them.
i think i should've...
but Smiles smiled again,
(smile that finds the needle in the hay)
and with that simple smile,
told me:
"forgive!
if i can keep a smile,
through what i've been through,
i beg of you,
please,
keep a smile,
too."




the smile i wore
still
couldn't stop the tears
from falling in line.

Currently listening : Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga By Spoon Release date: 10 July, 2007

11:20 AM - 16 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

winnie fuckin’ pooh
Current mood: drunk
Category: Writing and Poetry

gettin' drunk off of
the Barenjager
is a sticky task

honey liquored in
a shoulderless dress
woven of bamboo

dribblin' down
the side of
a shot glass

dribblin' down
my irish
red beard too

gettin' drunk off of
the Barenjager
lickin' fingers last

and i feel like i'm
an alcoholic
winnie fuckin' pooh

Currently reading : Book of Longing By Leonard Cohen Release date: 29 May, 2007

11:35 PM - 35 Comments - 34 Kudos - Add Comment

taste, taboo
Category: Writing and Poetry

challenge/exercise/topic from Blackbird: taboo, sense of taste only.





  spicy cinnamon foreplay

quick licks of strawberries,
  coated in
saccharine morning dew

  honey sips,
sucked straight from the
  comb

face up, mouth open,
  drinking petaled
rosewater rain

  parched pallet
cooled by cucumber tea
  sweetened
softly with
  fresh sugarcane

creamy
  peach parfait
climaxes
  leave syrupy
cantaloupe juice
 
 
 
  taste, taboo.

Currently listening : Trouble By Ray LaMontagne Release date: 14 September, 2004

9:27 PM - 22 Comments - 22 Kudos - Add Comment

dew dream
Current mood: sleepy
Category: Writing and Poetry

-for rachel-

the morning dew has only
     dreamed- of kissing me
as softly as you.

Currently listening : As I Am By Alicia Keys Release date: 13 November, 2007

9:59 PM - 29 Comments - 32 Kudos - Add Comment

in the direction of last night...
Current mood: hyper
Category: Writing and Poetry

after a precariously long evening
of Us furiously tearing down
the walls of My bedroom:


I rise from a dream,
to a blade of sun in my eyes,
knifing through the blinds, and
to avoid such
early morning illumination,
I close my eyelids,
  in the direction of last night's encounter...

She awakens to my movement, and
She, intently, slowly,
rubs Her hands over My chest,
while softly biting Her lower lip
  in the direction of last night's screams...

We clutch, in low gear,
each other tightly, and
torque Our bodies into one.
lust, the axle driving our wheels,
as Our tongues untie riddles
  in the direction of last night's love...

as time
marches tirelessly toward tomorrow,
I wonder if it will ever reverse,
for Us to relive moments passed, and
I sigh
  in the direction of last night...

Currently listening : Come Away with Me By Norah Jones Release date: 26 February, 2002

11:20 PM - 14 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment