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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    John the Baptist makes a beeline right for my car window
    and I remember all those times when I stalked my friends
    until they turned into cigarettes,
    never honest enough to beg.

    The rough edges of the world no longer
    call me on the landline I don’t have, cracking plastic
    pressed against my sweaty face.
    Or maybe they do, but I don’t answer strange numbers.

    I view color schemes designed to make me
    not feel and think of how another self,
    a past self,
    would have been floored by this.

    Pastel gray-blue-otherblue-red-green-purple,
    a rustic artisanal rainbow pop
    and I wonder if there is any language
    in which these colors mean war, or death,

    Not just the slow death
    of domesticity, of fashionable ice cream shops,
    of keeping busy while the ground crumbles underneath,
    one drunken night crying in an alley somewhere,
    Truth and revelation.

    Because what I see in this color palette is the hole it’s trying to hide,
    and the rough edges of the world come flooding back,
    only I don’t have time for them now
    except to think of how I still believe
    in truth, in this truth:

    If the world doesn’t break you until you beg,
    you’ll never see god.

    ...Created 2017-05-26 13:08:46

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    John the Baptist makes a beeline right for my car window
    And I remember all those times when I stalked my friends
    Until they turned into cigarettes,
    Never gracious enough to beg.

    The rough edges of the world no longer
    Call me on the landline I don’t have, cracking plastic
    Pressed against my sweaty face.
    Or maybe they do, but I don’t answer strange numbers.

    I view color schemes that make me
    Not feel and think of how another self,
    A past self,
    Would have been floored by this.

    Pastel gray-blue-otherblue-red-green-purple,
    A rustic artisanal rainbow pop
    and I wonder if there is any language
    in which these colors mean war, or death,

    not just the slow death
    of domesticity, of fashionable ice cream shops,
    of keeping busy while the ground crumbles underneath
    then one drunken night crying in an alley somewhere
    truth and revelation.

    Because what I see in this color palette is the hole it’s trying to hide,
    And the rough edges of the world come flooding back,
    Only I don’t have time for them now
    Except to think of how
    I still believe
    In this truth: everything has an underside
    Of dirt and worms.

    ...Created 2017-05-26 12:57:09

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Come, sit with me at the bar. The jokes here taste less
    like lead the more you hear them.
    Brush off this jaundiced weather
    Like lint on your grandfather’s army uniform, his frown
    Etched into your smile like a landmine.

    ...Created 2017-03-19 12:25:42

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fzQ6gRAEoy0

    ...Created 2017-03-01 22:42:18

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    I think you're crazy, maybe

    ...Created 2016-12-13 22:45:45

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Her father was born in China, or Singapore,
    Brother lost at eight --
    The story wears down
    mountains.
    Sip coffee, think about the next sip
    of coffee.
    She is watching the garbage men
    Like she will have to replicate their motions later
    Like someone who has read the same book over and over
    because everything new
    is just too much.

    She is not beautiful,
    Not in the traditional sense. Not lush and pulsing
    with life. She is pale stallions writhing in pain at the finish line,
    The chance of a falling match striking a vein of coal.
    Her face is smeared
    with oil and sweat, her hair tangled
    and her white dress
    barely holding on to the pretense
    that it is still a white dress. She is
    a used paperback novel that is always in your bookbag
    whose pages you finger,
    both familiar and terrifying,
    like sleeping next to a childhood friend
    seeing all the ways in which the world
    has eaten you both.

    This is her finger inside the hem of my sleeve, saying
    Feel how rough I am. Feel how the years have worked through me
    like a worm through an apple. Tell me I’m ugly and fuck me
    like long division.

    I’m blind and bleeding in traffic,
    I’m naked in the middle of the street,
    I’m walking out on coals,
    To meet you.

    Now we’re downtown. Now
    we’re in the top of your apartment building
    with the lights on.
    Now we’re getting ready to go out.
    Now we’re in our underwear.
    Now the curtain blows.

    ...Created 2016-11-01 11:55:59

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied...

    ...Created 2016-10-03 19:45:14

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://theprose.com/Zammatran

    ...Created 2016-09-15 20:49:48

    dotsJournal: Blowing Bubblesdots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    blow me a lilly
    from the stem
    of your neck
    and brush off
    those nickel-plated clouds
    like my grandfather's army suit
    on a Tuesday afternoon.

    fall with me
    towards the club
    like swing or jazz
    forgetting itself for a moment.

    we're all doing well.
    everything is on the upswing.

    sing that sick breeze
    into my throat like
    a porch swing
    hung from willow branches
    and lay your hands
    on this neatly pressed flannel
    like a radio dial
    playing nothing but tuna fish and aluminum.

    ...Created 2016-07-01 14:12:47

    dotsJournal: used to be bettdots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: er

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwstxbZy_oU

    ...Created 2016-06-21 21:26:07

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    Ecstasy at My Place written by yesmole
    So What? written by bentnotbroken
    Gods and Monsters written by TheJadedCritic
    Synergy written by monad
    Proactive written by SincerWritinAsh
    Lascivious Desires written by Jonathan Ryner
    Twisted written by eggshells
    Ash written by MysterydarkPoet
    Sad Season written by helenastorm13
    The Human Stain written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Something Like Love and Heartbreak written by JanePlane
    For the heart's soothing written by Jonathan Ryner
    Time after Time written by poetotoe
    Contact written by KeeperOfLight
    Scientia Poetica written by Paradox
    Out of Darkness - Prologue written by PryncessVynom
    Untitled written by jackz
    The Price written by Janesaddiction
    Take Flight written by Chelebel
    Tribute written by expiring_touch
    Superstar written by Crestfallenman
    Mercy written by jackz
    Holding Hands written by yesmole
    Poseidon written by yesmole
    God’s Easter Gift written by poetotoe
    Silver written by Blue7
    Nowdays written by concrete_rose
    As she lay sleeping written by Jonathan Ryner
    Send Me written by gwenn sundala
    To the Voice of Antebellum written by HisNameIsNoMore

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    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
    Posted

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