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My Fair Housing Act
Daily precedent,
hectic routine
begins once
a close shave decision,with empty hands
overflowing grace.
A forgone control,
repeating the wheel
in suffocation,pruning the hinged path
of ignored basis and
projected discomfort.
A malady enforcedto relinquish freedom
getting smoother,
cresting higher
value borrowed,
retention spent.Let me know when you’re ready to go,
and I’ll come with you to anywhere.
I could use some time off,
my heels are growing soft.
And I need some time to kill.
I’ve seen me on your wall, framed and all.
So you might as well save me this time.
Just give me that call, you know I wont stall.
My time is everything but mine.
And the speakers of the clan, has selected a man.
To go fend off my dreams of you.
So you’d better hurry, I’m starting to worry.
Because the mercenary guild don’t practice catch and release.
And in case you don’t know, I’ll be waiting in your heart.
Let’s go, I’m ready for my life to start.<small>[ 05-04-2002, 07:08 PM: Message edited by: Robert ]</small>
I knew it when your eyes
wasn’t meant for me.
Suitcases by the door.
A new beginning packed,
a life in four crates on the floor.
Smiling past me.
You opened your mouth
I closed my heart.…that s mine…hope you like it!
Clouds squeezed in a liqueur-chocolate wrapping my thoughts;float whispering sweet words to truffle expressing their love for life and uniqueness of ”good” loneliness.
Without wanting it, i interrupted their talking,entered into conversation and expressed with exclamation of admir for the sweetness of result s odour.Then i went away winking at them meaningfully,promising that i will come back.
Sixty wet and noisy minutes have already passed -in front of the window-with the company of the guitar tearing the fairy tale to pieces; burning my spontaneous talent and throwing its ashes to the open sea with the big mouth.
I am wondering about the process that emotion goes up and down the stairs of my soul;for all that i worry,back her up,tie down to her in a sad way simply beatifull;hidden smile of the face that looks me in the mirror before its deep crack breaks me away from the past.
An old lady with two grey hairs on her head;without eyebrows;-smells like illness-smokes at her balcony having as company the dirty broom and the out of order mop;on the floor cigarets-ends are waiting for the next one and the next one so that they will be many.
purpose?
and its raining;and she is still there;the wind blows moving those two hairs left and right,the cigaret is coming to an end,the old lady s eyes are weeping perpetually;they just dont know why-maybe its because of the wind-the litter do their rehearsal for the circus night show jumping higher; and higher;under the balcony;and myself still behind the window and behind the rain counting the one hudred and twenty moment of my ”good” lonelyness…*laughs* I like that one, Halves.
I love how Bush insists that ‘this isn’t a religious war’, and yet he manages to bring up ‘God’ in every public conversation. Whether it be about foreign policy, or that lovely little piece of fabric that impressionable children across the country are forced to salute.
In my 2nd high school, we had this thing called Forum every morning, in lieu of homeroom. It was assigned seating in the auditorium where we received announcements and ultimately said the Pledge. During my junior year, a bunch of people stopped standing up for it, and the admins started handing out detentions. Really ridiculous.
But now I’m overstepping the poetry bounds of this thread. Me so sorry.
I liked your poem.
xo
Rosa<small>[ 06-28-2002, 02:07 AM: Message edited by: rosa ]</small>
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