To Those Girls

To that girl over there

I don’t think you notice me.

If you do, then you notice me

hiding away behind the whites of my eyes.

So I won’t get to tell you, but if I could, I would.

You’re annoying me,

because you’re so pretty that I can’t help but stare

And when I turn away and look at a wall

It just makes my eyes dry up

Thirsting for just another glance.

 

To that girl I know

But I can’t tell you

Because you’re my friend

And I fear I’ll only run you off

Your legs are a rumor.

Starting from the end

Crawling up from your feet

Each inch a varying story

Obsessively, I’m just looking for the truth

But rumors are endless

And we can’t find the beginning

Yet there they are

One long rumor

I’ll never find the truth.

 

To that girl I just met

Did I ever tell you

That the most beautiful thing on a woman

Is her smile?

Of course I didn’t

But now I am

Maybe because it reflects everything

I never will be.

Maybe because if I see it

I think I did well.

Maybe a lot of things

I will never know.

But your smile in particular

Makes me forget everything around me

Except how lovely, that face

The person behind it

And how much I’d love to, in the future,

Keep you smiling.

 

To that girl I’ve known

Since before you were a woman

Remember that summer

Lou and I went on a road trip

The story of getting lost at cliff side

And the winding yellow brick road

Looking for Oz, we said

These days

I’m unsure that story actually happened

Or if that is just what is happening to my eyes

When I watch you

Floating, sifting, each step taken

As if all those perfectly placed curves

Were rewriting history

And I’m sorry that you’ve turned me into a lecher

But if only you know what you do to me

But even in my head

I try to stay on my best behavior

You corrupt me.

Please continue.

 

To the lady on the street

With the long brown hair

Layers of bristles arranged like a wildfire

For a second I gaped

A few hours from now, I’d have forgotten your face

But for a strong moment I thought

Of a world with you and me

And no one else.

Everything I’d do to make your happy

Just like those long locks

Bringing out something deep

Majestic from your eyes.

 

To those girls

Intoxicating women

And the thoughts I’ve had

Words I’ve kept

Have a few

Molting

Molting, molting, molting.

When I finally realized it was a reflection my own, I was staring at
A hideous, unpleasant monstrosity stood before me
A layer of glistening new skin obscured by
Leaflets of dried up, decrepit death dangling on my body

At any moment it could go
Like the last autumn leaf on a tree
The wind pushing and kicking it, commanding the deceased plant
Fall off! Fall off!
Yet the final strand remains attached

Or that loose tooth; birth’s remnants
Wedged into your gums, yet connected to nothing
Patches of raw, damaged flesh bleeding through
Exposed to the world and her extremities too soon

That reflection I see, my own
Known nothing can be done until the molting is complete
And that the days between we will be witnessing
This awkward, uncomfortable creature.
Molting

(sometimes I don’t understand my drafts. This was originally sitting around titled: Dreams – February 12, 2011. It certainly was no dream?)

Varicose

Out of place like varicose veins

Trying to stop blood flow

The pressure only rises

Swept away, Sun, Tsunami

Only seeing red

Varix, varix.

worth

If I am told I am worth something
By those who are worth to me
But they don’t show it
What am I really worth

And if I am worth very little
To those who are worth to me
Then am I really just worth
Nothing at all?

I say it but I don’t mean it
I say it but I don’t mean it
The story of my life
I’m sorry God

I’ve been through this
With you for the entirety
Of my existence given, yet
You hold worth in me.

delirium strikes

For years, they tried to fool proof myself
Scientists in a lab

The coats
The computers
The spectacles

I, The Spectacle

When I wasn’t blinded by
The pervasive light overhead
Softly spoken schematics
and directives overheard

A dark room and haze
Filled in around me
I could feel it
Compressing the air surrounding

It whispered

I murmured

As my skin boiled
my brain prodded
my lungs inflated
my eyes twitched
my teeth rattled
my tongue flapped
my bones fractured
my spine curled
my glands secreted
my nostrils retreated
my hair wilted
my voice dried
my lips desaturated
my nerves faded

Coarse leather straps and a metallic buckle,
The coldest thing in the room,
Slid across a molting layer of skin

“It is complete.”
Were the only words spoken

Later, I stood.

First step
Engineered
Bullet proof, air tight and
The miracle of science

Second step
“Plit, plit”
Red splatters visible
In front of my feet

Third step
My perfect hand
To my chest
Evident, indeed.
The scientists forgot to patch
A single leak.

Fourth step
Non-existent
The miracle of neglect

no effort – Facebook Pasting I

I wanted to post something, but I didn’t want to take the time to finish writing anything. So I copy and paste delirious facebook ramblings and call it blog! Italicizing myself for dramatic, confucian/bozoean effect

 

 

James Curtis

I’ve finally won
Robert Bolgeo

for real?
James Curtis

Via choosing different races
handicapped ones
I have won
Robert Bolgeo

what are you talking about?
James Curtis

I will no longer not not be respected
I am talking about the punk movemet
movement
meowvement
Robert Bolgeo

no you aren’t
and if you are, you haven’t won
unless in the punk movement winning means losing
James Curtis

I have won
Quitting = winning
well
not quitting
transcending
transcendance is achieving victory
and fulfillment is baking your heart until the bread is warm
Robert Bolgeo

i’ll take that.
James Curtis

holding on is breaking your heart until it is stale bread
and crumbs that lead to a person who is no longer there
is all you will be
And they overestimate a beating heart
because sometimes it is only beating itself
Robert Bolgeo

are you writing me poetry?
James Curtis

I don’t write poetry
and I don’t write it to you, either
Robert Bolgeo

wrong on both accounts
James Curtis

Someone is wrong
and it is usually everyone in the room
When the room empties
the only thing left is the prosperity of incorrection
breeding like bacteria underneath the pit of the earth
Robert Bolgeo

poetry
James Curtis

If I could choose
I would never become a poet
but I would gladly become a bard
Robert Bolgeo

i would love to see you a bard
travelling from town to town
regailing the peasants with tales from the kingdom
James Curtis

It is hard to continue my incoherent chickerings with you interjecting every 80 pixels
Robert Bolgeo

hahaha
i don’t want you to chicker me
nor do i want you to chicker me out
James Curtis

It is not you who I am chickering
It is the wind I chicker to
you just stand in the way
please move
please move
but the wind blows me still
in your direction
please move
please move
I am not a sail boat
I’M A FAIL BOAT
Robert Bolgeo

1:05am
stop your bardetry! it makes me regret my lack of inspiration recently
James Curtis

CHIPS AHOY
Robert Bolgeo

oh snap