tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59742348821174872802012-01-02T01:31:15.667-05:00poetry for about 4 people.pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.comBlogger1351100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-84834983247646681612011-11-23T09:53:00.001-05:002011-11-23T10:00:48.484-05:00

Top headline on Google news today, from Reuters--and I quote: "Did Gingrich's stumble on immigration?"  My comment on the Reuters site: "Bring back editor's that understand apostrophe's." It fills me with a desperate rage to see these kind of obvious, obvious mistakes littered throughout published articles from major news corporations.  I find them from the New York Times, Forbes Magazine, Time

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-71906231660527513982011-10-20T18:20:00.002-04:002011-10-20T18:20:37.535-04:00

While reading the news on economic protests yesterday and pondering the entities being protested, it suddenly occurred to me that I cannot think of a suitable test to distinguish corporations from living beings. Not in a biological sense, of course, but in the gritty sense of defining life--carrying on metabolism, reproduction, internal repairs, responses to external stimuli--I cannot think of a

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-76869109230459372272011-10-20T17:24:00.000-04:002011-10-20T18:25:15.080-04:00

not one word is left untouched; not today. we brought the biggest minds together-- and spoke at once all our many words! which, when done, meant nothing. all's left now is silence, and its comfort. and from this daydream, i came to wish that i could read silence. October '11

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-37887123869278614202011-09-29T01:41:00.002-04:002011-09-29T01:41:51.181-04:00

some photo of Lincoln i took when my sister came to visit.  completely irrelevant to this post. _____________ the following snippet is part of a poetic prose piece i began at an optometrists some five or six years ago.  despite trying to rewrite and rework this particular bit since, oh, the afternoon after i wrote it, i have never come up with an alternative presentation that suited my

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-55950092698982759572011-09-27T23:53:00.001-04:002011-09-27T23:53:27.637-04:00

It's pretty simple: video games.  If you cast a look around the video gaming world, you quickly notice that since the internet became accessible at gaming-quality speeds, the most popular games quickly became those in which gamers interact--and the more interaction there is, the more popular the game is likely to be.  I would point to the success of games such as Eve and WoW as evidence here, but

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-42790934101225952232011-09-22T10:15:00.003-04:002011-09-22T10:16:05.593-04:00

"Apr 20, 2011 – The well-known fitness photographer, who is awaiting trial on a host of child molestation charges, has married his alleged victim." Wait, I--wait.  Now he's the legal guardian and representative.  Does he get to be both plaintiff and defendant now?  Because--that's just--wow.  Hooray, court systems!

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-71624092192970366512011-09-20T10:59:00.001-04:002011-09-20T11:10:10.143-04:00

A brief sojourn through my head: (Scene: I have just toasted my pop tarts in the work kitchen and am traveling back to my cubicle.  A coworker passes me in the hallway, and I smile a greeting.  She assesses my breakfast unsmilingly and continues past without acknowledging my friendly approach.  The following dialog takes place in my head in the next twenty feet.) Grim Coworker: We don't smile

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-25256443113213501612011-08-09T21:34:00.002-04:002011-08-09T21:55:26.415-04:00

the problem with me blogging at this point in my life is that i have nothing to blog about. as in, my day consists of work stuff (nobody likes anybody who talks about work, unless you're a musician, athlete, or politician--so basically, in entertainment) and starcraft. that, and feeding the cats, talking to the cats, fighting with the cats for dominance of my chair & computer desk, and

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-35579374658983339112011-07-13T18:25:00.000-04:002011-07-13T18:25:56.158-04:00

so, i have astonishingly little capability for establishing a routine.  forming habits like exercising, performing household chores, blogging, that sort of thing?--not unless i find them absolutely necessary or enjoyable.  oh, i'll obsess and rage about something for a week, maybe make a schedule and blah blah blah...but it'll all fall apart.  the only consistent habit i've managed to form is

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-55061794771172175412011-06-30T23:12:00.006-04:002011-07-13T18:01:17.501-04:00

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-81291665413261426792011-06-29T21:56:00.000-04:002011-06-29T21:56:14.362-04:00

not to betray myself as a lazy dumbass, but people take their work way too seriously. either that or (if everyone's level of seriousness is actually appropriate) i am most certainly in the wrong field--as in, the field i should be in is playing rock festivals in Europe year round, getting high and writing poetry, sleeping in parks and dirty vans, with the retirement plan of dying at age 32 of

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-6124326553239285592011-06-21T18:39:00.000-04:002011-06-21T18:39:18.758-04:00

gina thinks i should start a blog. i'm too lazy to design a new one, so i'll just bastardize this thing and go to town. they put a roof on the home next to mine today. a bunch of greasy guys were standing around when i went to work, and there was a rent-a-crane (really, that's what it said on the side: rent-a-crane) in the parking lot. when i came home there was a nice slanty roof, kinda

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-65204767034126879632011-05-13T21:11:00.004-04:002011-06-15T14:00:26.504-04:00

into the chasm of time that is my life's commute i drip my words, in obscure piece-driven slow pursuit of meaning eked from these blank, mounding minutes. for years i've missed my deep soul-patrons, they having left me high ashore (or i left them: i'm never sure), but seldom do i miss them more than here. once or twice i've dreamt the brush of Poetry, shrouded in a gentle face jostled about by

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-74630026486176225312011-05-12T21:02:00.001-04:002011-05-13T21:12:17.664-04:00

In an evening where a cloud-damped sun descends behind the storm-grim ceiling sky, there waits an unknown hour far more beautiful than her brothers. From a thundercoil luminescence, the Earth glows nude--stretching lean her raw elegance, her naked true nobility, disrobed of all less worthy lights. Within her atmospheric lust we open infant eyes to find ourselves enfogged and more than men: we

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-80027222461457144292011-05-09T17:24:00.003-04:002011-05-13T21:12:32.360-04:00

i write the same few words in an ever slightly changing cycle of response; then, in a moment, i'll break and write what i don't mean. momentarily popular by extension and reflection of quite public demands, i then recede to write again the few words i really mean. we are, after all, quite simple and similar: by examining myself i know many things about everyone before ever taking the time to

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-88484552906511344052011-05-08T23:29:00.006-04:002011-05-13T21:18:09.716-04:00

______ i believe in trains--trains and moving things that bind us in a stench, a crush, a tossed together cacophony of human limbs and heads. it beats our sterilized obnoxion, our childhood terror of the deep-brow stranger... i believe in filth, i take it on as the most monumental of all human creations. after all, it is: why disown what we made (except, says the sour-faced agnostic:

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-19486261526990904072011-05-02T23:23:00.004-04:002011-05-13T21:12:48.938-04:00

in the fall they built their houses thin and elegant; they stood immediately upon the tall track embankments so we hapless train-bound souls could see their wealth and long for better things. then it was not our own impoverishment, but their great luck and luxury, what drove us on to riots in the spring. we gained nothing through our violence, except a narrowed scale: had we known these

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-18598239235048287372011-04-20T21:49:00.001-04:002011-05-09T18:45:53.585-04:00

and in the evening, sirens sound as years before, upon Ulysseus' rock, though now from highways, atop patrol cars: they sing the same, of life and things beyond my shallow shores. like, too, that noble mariner ill-fated, long from home we yearn for hearth and heather, or even battle's lust-- friend-god Athene connives, but little comfort gives to us who sail alone. april '11

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-90172685518590642872011-04-10T22:57:00.002-04:002011-04-10T22:57:53.533-04:00

in heaven, while lounging over coffee, we had a generic uproar about politics on earth. just kidding.

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-40643696504102688772011-03-26T13:21:00.004-04:002011-07-22T18:57:18.972-04:00

Away, away, mercenary machine, out from under your Pittsburgh sky; your paper engine drives you forth--and yet you hang behind.  You left your heart on a rusted hill, in renaissance grafitti on crumbling alley walls: green cartoon words from a bitter youth, and yet they still survive.  "I would have wept with her," you told the Sea, and he unfeeling showed you shores where men learn not to

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-9146983421309981742011-03-05T14:24:00.000-05:002011-03-05T14:24:09.653-05:00

From depths of a blooming dull-red sky, February departs the city of men.  How many lies are told in a city such as this!  Yet among the thieves and cobblestones persists a strange, cold-grey peace-- Back when I believed in the solidity of windows I would press my small frame against the glass and peer out at the street and the lawn; or, in the backseat of our station wagon I would lie on my

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-46079694522244568322011-02-18T16:46:00.001-05:002011-03-07T16:32:09.726-05:00

these fuselage dreams aloft on long, bright, thin-air wings once heralds of a blind new time, now icons--better buried deep your dark indulgent thoughts found responsibly reprehensible betray prim civilization's modernesque composures; the naked stranger dreamt-of tells the truth she hooks her fingers on his pant-line in perpetuity, til books turn dust when, words being dead, she shall lust

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-57780173390470919142010-12-21T03:41:00.003-05:002011-01-08T20:55:44.183-05:00

_______________ well, what do poets when rivers dry?write punctuation; &space (visions intuited,thoughts supp-lanting, -ressing)not me, of course. i, and every other i,scribe different. and what do lovers after flames?repetition, repetition; &withdraw (feelings intuited,fear-doubts p-lanting, -ressing)not us, of course. we, and every other we,exist unique. so you know,i painted you.better to

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-28278901896563029312010-11-16T14:38:00.002-05:002010-11-16T14:39:08.337-05:00

i could sit & stare at air for hours , filled up with empty thoughts and silence well-chased across the top ( rather than shuffled through) the leaves nov '10

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-90926548118135222102010-10-29T16:33:00.003-04:002010-12-21T03:42:44.526-05:00

i see within the negative space of your photograph myselfby which is defined each membership of group- ings that rely upon each individual, reciprocally, for definition. "i am Spartan," where is Sparta? where Spartans live, and who are they? these many faces, each saying "i am thus." okay: i, as well, lean heavily upon mutual dependence, in negative relationship of explanation: "because i am Not

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-81386294072140404652010-10-29T15:52:00.002-04:002010-10-30T12:41:16.829-04:00

in uncredited performance(artless, un-staged) laughter: the thinking man's compliant contradiction apologies: his approximation of concern for the violence of egos put upon him-- behind the ballet, a room of mirrors. and writing: a library full of edits. paintings hang on walls apart from painters. & a coda!--then musicians dip off stage, private, belonging to themselves again. Not so; in

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-4665435845614442822010-10-15T23:15:00.000-04:002010-10-29T17:54:35.101-04:00

these black lines carry Civilization rubber-coated... yellow droplets in a dark hill (porch-lit suburban avenues), blinking red-white beacon beams across our dim horizons: all these dripping slow from our black-stretched lines, hung from frowning iron gallows, dead forests of limb-stripped trees. carrying pictures, songs, our many absent-made rubber-coat conversations this stretched

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-68188082230942481242010-10-14T19:59:00.005-04:002010-10-29T16:26:36.030-04:00

______ I make no requests upon you -- so we are at peace. Your demands do not assail me. The number eight is a promise of infinity from the confines of mortality. Do not be ashamed: it is a frothy age, full of ignorance and life. The horizons of eight are near, near indeed, to be such unimagined heights & distant dreams. In the autumn I smell the aroma of my death: several years hence yet,

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-36423395374835660362010-10-14T19:48:00.003-04:002010-10-14T20:12:45.027-04:00

______ 1. i am a brick wall overused and weather grooved; i have survived my toiling creators without joy-- if ever they spackled joy into my heavy constitution. my valiant mortar champions on uncracked, unchipped, but i, a thing of tired pieces, no longer cheer it on. pass, pass! let me crumble apart in peace. 2. and: i am sorry how my hollow frame could not more support provide. filled

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-74704372738478052192010-10-10T22:19:00.001-04:002010-12-21T03:51:36.018-05:00

_________ the sky cracks open and brilliant we drip, drip out and through! like guilt. in chaos i meet you-- tumble down and churn together. can winds move lightning? or can we? the highest point, the highest point, be careful thereof-- however static is the danger as science assures. i am the cone of evaporated rain following your electric shrapnel burst, we fit. tumbling together from a crack

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-42487078073538712212010-10-10T06:44:00.000-04:002010-12-21T03:59:01.228-05:00

amidst our grime, she is a jewel discovered,  a rare thing in the sand-- she bends to touch our misery, but the poet speaks: "with all respect, you've never failed like us before. we nightly pray you never shall: we hope in you! for you are full and fair, your life-lit eyes held wide in these teeming streets of gutter'd skeletons; we gaunt bones will clatter here for many years to come and

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-37770338397939371012010-09-19T18:11:00.002-04:002010-12-21T03:59:53.297-05:00

when you were young you got a tattoo in a secret place, for priveleged few who'd see you nude; and now in silence we regard your youth as a mistake. you were never young, as i was, love and child-fear never, i suppose, drove your small body up to tree-top security; now you and me and buses on their routes blow blue-gray smoke into a clear fall afternoon. when did these many adult sins begin, so

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-26888218125398501652010-08-13T15:58:00.002-04:002011-06-04T11:24:43.949-04:00

_______________ we took stairs to the rust-glow sundown roof and cigarette end of a crystal Age. there, held close against summer's evening chill i whisper your lost eternities-- it's all chipped-side, inside, every side cracked up, our bunker-down answers empty, shrill-- rubbing afternoon sleep-caked eyes, a weather-beat child coming to realize your cheek is the best part of sunsets. at

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-68105586141371709302010-08-03T03:08:00.000-04:002010-08-03T03:08:24.812-04:00

    "You say the same dumb shit.  Every time."    We closed at 9:30 PM and it is 9:54 PM now.  I am in the Accounting Department looking lost, looking for something.  There is an inbox labeled, "End of Shift Reports."  I rifle through it.  I cannot find Alina's report, the one with the missing check, the check that came in after she left before I left.  The check is in an envelope labeled "Alina

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-69175868004863344132010-07-02T18:36:00.005-04:002010-10-14T20:18:00.012-04:00

don't anyone let me tell you i'm not grateful because i am grateful, really so, except when i'm not, see the list of things i am actually good at is pretty short, it is: 1. I AM USUALLY GOOD AT CROSSING ROADS. sometimes actually i'm not super good at roads, but usually i am. like, i will be walking on sidewalk cement and come to a road and not stop, at all, not even half-step pause on the

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-11656770904347662302010-06-07T16:49:00.005-04:002010-06-07T16:57:22.327-04:00

"What is the purpose of literature?  What makes it good?  What makes it bad?" P. J. Jackson       Literature is an art form; we can only appreciate and examine it as such.  The question of literature's purpose immediately becomes a question of art's purpose, and the answers cannot be significantly different.       Art's purpose is an expression of its highest functions.  To the patron,

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-43710838171744756232010-04-03T14:05:00.001-04:002010-10-29T15:54:16.138-04:00

_______ ding! i shuffle homeward then beneath cloud-gray gloom, doddle emptily before great Sleep's repetitious void; i resent obscurity's watchless silence. but what's healed by fame's bustling anonymity? the intimate dialogue of solitude thinly veils-- a petal as are we all, flowers forgot. but soberly, respectful: for no unplucked stems remain. 4/3/10 12/29/08

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-55878595932405388802010-04-03T13:40:00.002-04:002010-04-03T13:40:50.753-04:00

ah, i cursed myself,upset deep magic, offended somehard, cold, Universal law--well, these things happen.there's nothing we can do.i ran afoul, see: mocked a charlatanprotected by steep vows--irony, how he disbelieved in them,but oh! they believed in him!and i (fool) trusted neither.Plato, too, questioned the gods:why do we need such over-men?is it for Truth? serve Truth herself! ah, but no, no,

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-91172049631640612722010-04-03T12:51:00.000-04:002010-04-03T12:52:16.540-04:00

the drain has come unplugged in my slim silver pool of luck. i am a knee-clutcher, warmth-hugger reminiscing skinnier days in empty bathtubs hanging behind when the water had gone, eking wisps of steamy heat from empty porcelain. cruel life! o luckless life, what have i ever done to you? godlike, elegant Life replies:you thinkthese puddles of fortune come free? 4/3/10 12/10/08

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-13843416380338775202010-04-03T12:13:00.003-04:002010-04-03T12:16:56.095-04:00

___________ Then I came back, from nowhere I think, in the first breath of air after too long under water. Love poured through from nowhere and I stood in sun-stunned wonder. Nowhere had I been, now everywhere was. The cynic's breath upon my neck was faint--but what's more: no longer escaping from my own lips. april '09 april '10

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-8667880759015891752010-03-30T10:57:00.004-04:002010-04-03T12:20:12.558-04:00

my mind is a blank prefabricated drywall piece hung crooked and the lights are not on and there is mold in the opposite corner and nobody is upstairs, nobody has been upstairs for the years since they put me where i am and then rushed out in a great hurry.  i am learning to be patient drywall; i will be such better drywall in eight years when perhaps they will come less rushing now through the

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-38924839009232139212010-03-26T10:01:00.000-04:002010-12-21T04:04:09.761-05:00

i tell them, "come, children, gather to me! my arms are small and young, but they are strong: their thin shadows cover and protect you all. hail, sweet stranger, i welcome you in! my driftwood fire is weak and dull, but warm: its tired light will kiss your sun-baked cheeks and dry the rainwater gathered in your coat. see now, my raindrops, fall upon me! my bucket-joy awaits you. overwhelm

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-74423351229007397642010-02-24T02:05:00.006-05:002010-10-29T16:51:20.943-04:00

Ancestral pain reborn in every breath: lungs expand, contract ... there it is again! Like old friends who stay behind together-- here, too, an old response: Wisdom, Patience,  a ragged Hope for better things ahead. this, too, shall pass! Ah, sweet, thus shall you hope-- though simple guarantees belong to fools. Wise men hunger too: cruel starvation, in- discriminate foe of humanity! These

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-30534918429395161082010-02-22T14:57:00.004-05:002010-02-22T19:19:25.188-05:00

We slip to sleep, an audience of ice-melt veins dripping roof tip rhythms in narrow alley-ways; let slip our dark embrace to face the window-sill and of the chill's retreat ear-drink our fill.Stripped of harsh solidity by the noon-warm sun,liquidity's your nature: everlasting runfrom ancient times. You'll ice again, old moleculesas ice you knew before me; frosty toolof Nature! I gladly pledge my

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-57206716578656657142010-02-09T13:43:00.004-05:002010-02-16T15:05:31.517-05:00

My face is a wall. My face is a piece of lead. My fingers fit this table in perfect crescent contradictions; I am History, spoken. The Sea has passed. The Sea has dried himself to salt and so much foreign land, all terrific motion laying still. We speak of Poetry, who is lost to us. Lost to me. For I am a stone. I am a crevice in your long-forgotten skyline. feb '10

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-10898005821838842322010-02-06T03:12:00.001-05:002010-02-11T23:23:20.436-05:00

________ Grecian gods live in skies like these.

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-7984732833528923652010-02-02T13:33:00.006-05:002010-02-16T15:22:15.739-05:00

so you're twenty-fivethrice congratulated,unemployed, wearing second-story apartment jeanspatiently. biding, doing things you've donefor thirteen years.throwing dice, wasting afternoonspatiently. you'll findsome day-- nothing.you will be full without ever eatingwithout ever raising your hands-- feb '10

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-26127454052061215962010-01-16T11:23:00.001-05:002010-01-16T14:57:24.065-05:00

i'll just admit that i didn't feel anything at your funeral or the one before that or the one before that. in fact the only one i ever felt anything, i didn't even know the corpse until i met him in a casket and he was dead. and i was young, i was full of mysticism, full of thoughts like "you ought not be so dead!" and i wept, but only with disappointment in my chariot-gods who did not attend

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-54326333938092838412010-01-09T19:55:00.004-05:002010-01-13T16:35:33.245-05:00

________ Well, I've met people innocent and full of sin young like myself years past, and they grew up old, filled all with disappointment, never loved by Wisdom. Well I prayed for you to stay! Oh, never lose your cynical hope, youth, lust-- But I now confess I never had much hope for you in sweat pants, cheap make-up: well, you might survive; innocent, foolish, sinner. We all were young,

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-83390698536362331932010-01-07T23:42:00.009-05:002010-02-06T03:08:29.782-05:00

________  a. Yourself i'll hide nothing. i will tell you the truth in two lines: you have no-one else. look how the first line stings yet the second gives us hope. i show all this to you because we ever are so young and strong. b. Skill Sets hat in hand i shuffle pretty good i can shuffle with the best of us. not much for striding, strutting, stalking, i can stumble, i can shuffle good. okay

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-9635384597816782942009-12-21T22:34:00.001-05:002009-12-22T01:25:07.724-05:00

we are great warriors, great fighters, engineers, we build great walls, great bridges, armies, buildings, battles, scrawling epics on great wars and great soldiers, ourselves; we stand astride, stand tall, powerful, we are geniuses, monuments of academics, scholarship, achievement: mighty our thoughts, grand our many accomplishments, our brethren and comrades- in-arms, we are superior,

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-16065454163781496912009-12-07T21:01:00.003-05:002010-01-10T14:23:59.248-05:00

________ i ride the city's veins glaze-eyed and mildly organic on pulsing channels of metal blood. our red lights burn insincere, glowing bright duplicity in tiled tunnel dusk. am i the city? no! are you? not all these many years; what lives so long as cities? childhood, standing in backyard weeds watches this pulse-streaming flow, flashing red-white continuity, duplicity astride the

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-46967272956026975182009-12-07T11:23:00.001-05:002010-01-08T19:54:41.379-05:00

she was a very useful widow; he'd died young and childless, but with grand expectations so she was left with money, land, some reputation-- it pads the nest, but never warms the bed. they lived with her.  the house was empty and she liked their beautiful words; she painted rooms downstairs in colors to match the noble evening chords they played to cricket rhythms. January '10 October '09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-65825804524579631902009-11-30T00:36:00.014-05:002009-12-02T16:52:08.620-05:00

________ in the early evening, i stood apart to listen; i stood apart to pray; i stood apart to gather my thoughts in. near me stretched three long, thin trees, and in them stretched a long, tall wind. oh, put me next to windows! put me next to everything clear and busy and full of tall, thin time. for time is everything! see those who climb the long stairs quickly, they pause for breath: that

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-23398466199224310102009-11-25T19:06:00.001-05:002009-11-30T13:50:57.404-05:00

______ come, doll child, we shall walk by the river our book-end thoughts forgot in current-flow courage, doll child, it's only a day-dusk the leaves shall yet crumble and crush and crack be still, small child, for my back shall be strong we shall crawl on ahead to the morning sun to pray, my child, oh pray to the gods who terrify us with their horror and love come near, sweet child. we've

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-29030285629122988352009-11-25T18:20:00.005-05:002009-11-30T13:51:30.245-05:00

______ the day before she died Poetry set her house in order; i was there and said to her, "you need not do this terrible thing! you may yet live tomorrow, as today!--" and she with eye-flash silenced me. we emptied waste bins, locked the cabinets and set dust-cloth over furniture. quickly, quickly: sweeping floor-boards, folding shirts and collars into deep drawers, somber, silent, driven with

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-47344202082462221222009-11-25T16:16:00.001-05:002009-11-30T13:51:51.781-05:00

______ you're late, birds today's November and i see you glittering in naked trees you're beautiful anyway i'm glad you stuck around construction in Oakland i can see the cranes, but it's getting cold to build anyway, i prefer these old roofs or even clouds church-ways i always shake hands with Ronald from Kenya, who came Pittsburgh to learn but deferred to feed young Emmanuel and Wema:

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-51427410681950177662009-11-23T14:49:00.001-05:002009-11-23T14:49:28.379-05:00

I begin life with my seven friends the lowest, most common and five steps away from becoming the most powerful royalty. November '09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-5346361134410110442009-11-09T15:06:00.005-05:002009-11-25T18:17:15.293-05:00

History had fallen far behind, standing with the Sea; i was alone. and then: brilliance! a sudden spear-splash of bright, deep orange! Olympian color-cascade throbbing life and energy: i stood below, i stood aside, i cringed against the splendid weight upon my awe-struck retinas. such, such familiar thrill, deep-moving and alive!--too like my own lost Poetry. i turned away, marked by this. but

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-7033674028718912672009-11-08T02:32:00.003-05:002009-11-08T02:34:48.477-05:00

(to be spoken) i am Not a speaker i'm a reader, i'm a writer i'm a listener and a healer but i am Not a speaker, nor reciter it's not my place, not my pace not me. However-- how else am i to commune with you, when i have words and all you've got is time? how are we to share holiness, experience unless communicated--Christ used cheap crackers and wine-- and it's still real, it's still communion.

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-56873653591821538782009-10-28T11:27:00.004-04:002009-10-28T11:34:59.847-04:00

you can drift up a little, and lift to my right making distant lights twinkle, friend. a wisp of steam from hospital vents unknown: i know you. you are my muse. my inspiration, religion, aspiration. tomorrow's years, they scroll from us, blacktop shimmering sunlight and heat. next crest in sight, but after--who knows? i know only that i do not, wise Socrates i do not know. are you holy, dear

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-33035130993984087782009-10-27T15:03:00.003-04:002009-10-27T15:12:08.657-04:00

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-67127294212440998812009-10-23T16:36:00.004-04:002009-10-27T23:17:21.250-04:00

late at night my neighbor's kitchen light keeps me awake. i peer curious across the alley but the rooms are always empty. not ours; this one-bed, kitchen, living room & full bath (with leaky tub) seems too small. it's late, quite late i guess. i've slept for hot hours. now awake, sweaty, useless. what's there to do at 4:09? so it was this sweet fall afternoon, i sat on an empty couch,

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-7498840638067781622009-09-29T02:59:00.011-04:002009-10-08T14:36:58.067-04:00

why fire's hot, fall's cold science knows, but nobody's thinking about it just happens that way. so i'm Nobody, ok, and i think about it, wish these either weren't either, or were in balance: candles, crisp leaves, blue-grey wind. on the avenue's a man, looking lost; dis-oriented; on the 'phone he says "there's gravel, a blue sign, cars," historic novelties. but they're everywhere. "come get me?

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-4620918660810038452009-09-05T02:28:00.000-04:002009-09-06T21:38:17.188-04:00

in dismal grey i wandered back, along the aimless cobblestones, breathing shallow thoughts. days stretched into weeks, months: my slow soul slept. i took up drinking, which made me hunger; took up smoking, which made me thirst. the drab brick walls closed in around, and City growled low and menacing, chasing me toward gloomy hills.i met History in a cemetery, pause-walking in unkempt grass; he

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-87923992076333868182009-07-28T12:33:00.003-04:002009-07-28T16:51:50.539-04:00

i dreamt the Fatherless dream: ever-present myth-man haunted, i strove for self-denied acceptance. they never find it, these child-presidents and emperors-- Fathering nations to protest their own orphanage. and we pity them; vote for them; submit to them; and i dream of their lives. there is a reasonbehind social ills, books say. and i knowit has to do with Chance: the roll of genetic dice by

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-91035213656728904022009-07-06T00:36:00.010-04:002009-07-06T08:29:32.788-04:00

trouble is: i cursed myself, i guessupset some deep magic--well, these things happen.not much left for it, but to waitor buy a gun & life insurance; options, options.i ran afoul! the deal was simpleso i thought. i worked for a man who sold his imageprotected by steep vows--irony, how he disbelieved them,but oh! they believed in himand i (fool!) believed neither.Plato asked why we needed such gods

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-12177521597983298002009-07-04T02:40:00.004-04:002009-07-04T03:08:09.518-04:00

see here.there are rocks in the ocean--wait, you don't understand:solid monoliths, larger than apartment buildingsall one piece.they are built when Earth wrinkles.we snorkel around them like gnats.and they!--they are but pebbles in the wide Sea.how could we understand?i knew a girl years ago, with a freckled smilelike some bit of garden beautifully forgot.this year she is a painted mannequin.no!

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-52055498084739197012009-06-16T00:10:00.003-04:002009-10-06T00:41:15.739-04:00

Here is calm, yet not peace. We gape at heavy clouds dimming our bright world:those solemn, silent gods have freed us from Sol. Nature stirs the forest with unseen hands,the wood and wind contesting for Her pleasure.Feathers sing battle lore. How each note echoes!--then dense, rushing quiethangs from solid air. Earth herself has paused; wetaste the silence like wine.may '07 - june '09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-60131591135162975442009-06-09T15:37:00.007-04:002011-09-20T11:03:15.587-04:00

The answer to Johnny Cash and Nine Inch Nails' mournful question--echoed by so many other mediocre modern artists in the throes of self-pity, and myself upon occasion--is that the question itself is misplaced. Ask not what you have become, what have I become. Ask what you have not become, what have I neglected to become. This is necessary. Then ask not what you have already become, but what

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-90959314182516653752009-06-04T20:57:00.008-04:002009-07-06T08:41:47.825-04:00

shame is a velvet robegone rough, you knowwith overuse and sweat from sleeping inworn always with a blush.no one knows my name herenor cares, nor should.ah, i am so very well forgotten:the dim spare twenty crumpled so in old jeans.but feel not self-pity; ratherdisappointment, confusion, distaste--i am a morbid curiosity.june '09 - july '09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-20345637658638380752009-05-14T02:09:00.006-04:002009-06-04T21:07:04.650-04:00

i was sevenand scaredand i spoke to God--"if i'm not good enoughthen i'll just love Youfrom hell."the wall beside my bedcomforted me.i was twelveand lonelyand i spoke to God--"if You love meplease say something."the fence around my yardexplained: silencedoes not meanHe does not love;only thatHe is not manipulated.i was twenty fourand tiredand i did not speak at all:there were no words to say.the

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-58255646484888277202009-04-30T15:23:00.002-04:002009-04-30T15:29:08.299-04:00

"come now, let us reason together,"written honestly for liarswho don't care: gold unpolished isn't goldthey say, although in Jerusalemit always sells the samebetween friends."i love you: farewell,"the books explained from boxes by the pond;i think he meant to drown himself with literature.tomorrow, i'll ask him why,knowing no answer exists; he'll only sayhe needed leaving left alone."awake, why

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-88705237500727277632009-04-26T02:54:00.006-04:002011-09-20T11:03:15.592-04:00

all told, i think i wrote better poetry when i was a virgin. take that how you will.

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-69975443412064761102009-04-26T02:10:00.023-04:002009-10-28T11:45:12.157-04:00

  let me tell you a story i heard. it goes like this: we are just dust, to dust returning. and between-- a story, poorly told. he had leukemia and he loved men, so when he died it was the secretary, from the office: she was the one arguing with his sister about the homosexual body. the judge decided it ought to be cremated according to his will, which he wrote for nobody;

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-69380691802809253592009-04-20T18:52:00.004-04:002009-04-21T23:09:14.114-04:00

they were then very mortal; every day more sobut always and around themand within them breathedthe ceaseless memoirs of immortality.april '09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-65085787057477196402009-04-17T18:49:00.002-04:002009-04-21T23:09:27.461-04:00

Civilizations drip from history's faucet: mildly appearing, we slowly swell, and pause in the balance--then fall, fall into fathomless dark below. And another appears behind.april '09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-74962111631280137182009-04-17T18:40:00.005-04:002009-04-21T23:09:37.171-04:00

if you have a pretty girlhold her close, hold her closefor she won't stay long, noshe won't stay long with you.when you hold your pretty girlkiss her lips, kiss her lips, ohfor she won't stay longshe won't stay long with you.if you have a pretty childhold her close, hold her closefor she won't stay long, noshe won't stay long a youth.and when you hold your pretty childkiss her lips, kiss her lips

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-30625296736413856302009-04-14T02:00:00.002-04:002009-05-14T02:31:06.060-04:00

These black lines,they carry civilizationunder rubber coats.Yellow droplets in a dark hill(porch lights on suburban avenues)and the blinking red or white beaconson our dark horizons:they all drip from theseblack stretched lines,which hang from frowning iron maidensand a forest of pole-stripped trees.The black lines sway,carrying our pictures and songsand so many conversations--silently quieting

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-48029191952912539692009-03-30T10:47:00.001-04:002009-04-21T23:10:32.572-04:00

you know, at least we can say,when we're at the bottom of the stairs,we can tell ourselves, you know,at least we made it this far.3/30/09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-25447414050764160152009-03-28T23:05:00.003-04:002009-04-21T23:10:43.622-04:00

it's dry, like the insideand so very thirsty.i watched the clicking numbers pass, coughingflu and smoke, sullen Muse withdrawn.words that sometimes flowed, now scrapeon the burdened underside, chipping graffiti from the 70s.oh, it smells like pissbut the silence feels so warm:i'll crouch here 'til i hear clarity.there's nothing else to do.3/28/09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-38428337684543964702009-03-15T23:09:00.007-04:002009-04-21T23:11:08.756-04:00

oh, but i was never heretic, that i could so suspend--liquid, is belief! cavern waves echo off my hollow skin.i am Female, in words unutterable, and Malethrough such repeat repeat repeating i feel and see:it's begging me to stop. (or the other way round?)it gets everywhere! everything and everyone,within them, or instead of them. Music! silent vibrationskeep us alive, we press these rhythms to

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-65800269327113096532009-03-08T21:13:00.006-04:002009-04-21T23:10:54.954-04:00

delicious fog and sweet, sweet gloom;dim sidewalk puddles ripple! reminiscingof a long-forgotten forested midday dusk,thick with life. Earth's sharp half-darkexcites and threatens us: remember Hernude, unpaved. gods murmur thunder from afar."we jumped foxhole to foxhole" said the bald manto the college boy with fancy hair; wrinkled splotchpushed out around one eye. he was serious, his$4 coffee

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-1496297277534080662009-03-06T19:54:00.004-05:002009-03-06T20:16:53.339-05:00

hey! you've won the war! butis your heart prepared to rule?do the Fates & Saints rejoice?no, no: those who rule ask notof their own souls; for those who conquerSelf,seldom find others necessary to dominate.3/6/09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-5710914729374818912009-03-03T16:21:00.011-05:002009-04-25T09:22:37.049-04:00

silence: but not.clocks, computer fans, a sink swallowing waterand the indomitable air pumped in fromthat nice day i can see they're having outside.the attorneys are talking, next office over:mutually feigning interest to kill time (creatingan even worse silence). their desperate amusementcrescendos! and syllables trickle down my side of the walls.someone's coming, in measured footsteps; it's

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-13555528832437597092009-02-27T11:24:00.008-05:002010-02-24T09:52:18.769-05:00

ha! ha! ha! ha! laughter-- not laughing. fickle, this joy. an insult, even, to the Real: better than weeping, perhaps? or cheaply appearing such. ha! ha! a joke, not for humor but irony. ha! ha! a joke, not for humor but cheaply appearing such. better than weeping, perhaps? or an insult, even, to the Real: not laughing. fickle, this joy. ha! ha! ha! ha! laughter-- 2/27/09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-57753814349606674022009-02-27T11:21:00.000-05:002009-02-27T11:21:38.049-05:00

i lingered by the fog-damped rocks pulling on sweet thick Spring. oh, content & numb; little seeing, little feeling, sleep-thinking but aware! paused, blinking: of whom? not the Sea far off laughing to Shore with such momentum! he echoes thinly through the thickening wood. nor History in his dusty libraries and war-sodden battlefields (how they strain now to bloom!--most splendid of the Aches).

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-25726800492788880312009-02-23T22:34:00.006-05:002009-02-24T13:52:45.341-05:00

it started out so--just so.by a rainy muse, by sharp lightningoutside those hotel bay windows;i sat and stared, friend.lights down while others slept,from eight floors up i looked down:scattered cars on a patchwork lot, the tramevery four minutes, looming cranespulling grandeur from the asphalt.the night slipped on around me,so still, content, so at--peace, was it?such careless peace!--love! o

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-57807657895071753632009-02-23T14:18:00.003-05:002009-03-05T08:15:11.825-05:00

deep, deep downsome subterranean sundial chimesfor beauty, grace, the balanced stepin well-matched sandals.2/23/09

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-36145008810363120932009-02-17T22:00:00.004-05:002009-02-19T10:13:56.693-05:00

there's much to be said for you:naivete is foolish but so pleasant! hope's fresh as spring.i kicked the sapling, pocketed hands relaxedjust to see the leaves shiver. don't we all?but grotesque, grotesque! is the mighty oak, kneeling downto curl its hoary frame back to acorn.so then. i wandered on, watching the guttered gritsputter underneath the traffic's surge.age--relentless, grinding oily

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-90058632991437710622009-02-05T00:28:00.003-05:002009-02-05T01:00:07.567-05:00

in general--useless.the Renaissance man shivers in the gutters,jobless. homeless. loveless. but notpastless!, nor futureless!--misery too is forward history.he knows too much, not too littlewho cannot shuffle papers without mourning cartography.walking mends his sidewalk-chilled bones,down Forbes to an annoyed corner and left, into slums.here's the problem: They claw for new thoughtsleaving older

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-18026848104334772602009-01-29T16:20:00.000-05:002009-01-30T00:29:51.321-05:00

i ride the city's veinsglaze-eyed and mildly organicalong these pulsing channels of metal blood.and i don't believe them, noi think all the red lights are pretendingglowing bright duplicity in the duskof tiled tunnels. am i the city? no!not for these many years; what is?and what are you?astride these asphalt arterieswe err, imagine one anotherand this endless stream of glowing redto be what lives

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-78996264129016698762009-01-27T16:47:00.004-05:002009-01-27T21:31:32.472-05:00

we'll dream. oh don't pretend--we shallbuild stone zeppelins and crow success, never mindit only flies down; we can fix thaton the way. we'll dream! the world's our liquidmarionette, and all our plans are strings but don't despair! tie tighter knots for more control.--No! no, it's wrong;we'll never fly, nor control.we were born winglessinto puddled gravity:gasping at birth, we'll gasp at

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-23621952101614234002009-01-21T11:05:00.013-05:002009-02-02T00:55:52.684-05:00

someday we'll have to tellof how i died and lay my armscrossed & flaccid as an empty afternoon:so void of life, my clammy oilskin fleshtwo shades too gray. it's me!but not. i'm peering up at youthrough death-weary lids, creepy as a corpse.no blood left in these veins,no jump in these legs,no spirit in this vacant smile--i lie so still! it entertainssomething carefree and curious in me,the same

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-17825479869720981312009-01-09T02:34:00.009-05:002009-01-24T11:54:49.655-05:00

we paused at a statue from golden agesso bright and proud! a chiseled name, distantly familiar,reminiscent of better times than these.i held my father's hand--or was itgrandfather, perhaps several further back--and told him o! oh, how i missed those days somehow,i yearned to see the bright ships sail, to watchproud armies marching, marching on in nobler times.life fills me with the telling:

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-75368621512258004042008-12-29T20:00:00.011-05:002009-01-24T11:55:10.636-05:00

ding! we shuffle homeward thenbeneath cloud-gray gloom,doddle emptilybefore great Sleep's repetitious void;i resent obscurity's watchful silence. butwhat's healed by bustling anonymity?intimacy's absent dialoguethinly veils-- a petal as are we all, flowers forgot.but soberly, respectful:no unplucked stems remain.12/29/08

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-83402820959050396862008-12-22T23:08:00.002-05:002009-02-19T10:14:24.640-05:00

when, in querulous thought,you think of freedom, let it not betales of proud flags flying fierce and full;nor mystic microphonic speech delivered;never knickerbocker armies filing ranks;think not of licentuous behavior in dark streets;not even riots of good citizens: theseare the stuff of tyranny, whilstFreudian nightmares reign. not freedom,which is the beautiful fall in Pennsylvania:slaves may

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-80982264196790686952008-12-18T16:02:00.003-05:002009-02-19T10:14:37.619-05:00

depressing arrogance:an illusion of intelligence and valueshaughtily mandated from tired youth.what sadly disillusioned tripe.12/18/08

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-12400529103214111802008-12-17T09:54:00.013-05:002008-12-29T10:47:04.185-05:00

ah. well, there is that.you middle people always wantrecognition, but you're too familiar.how can we idealize youwho look like us, dressing poorerand with shorter words?no, it will not do.this guilt must be expunged by those we least resemble.because there is this.you people aren't so far behindthe humble starts some Harvard mums recall.grandfathers were near equals once: embarrassing,but we have

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5974234882117487280.post-24361462847065514932008-12-09T13:13:00.006-05:002008-12-11T13:04:33.071-05:00

the city glooms, you knowoutside the shuttered courthouse windows,dulled sirens the brightest flashes.gentle sunlight,softly distantsketches our bureaucratic marchon marble counter tops:we slouched fewscurry beneath the arched triomphe de justice;so heavily yolked in scathing civility.there's work to do! these lawswill not condemn alone, norcharge great pennies for their use!to arms, my brethren,

pytyrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02505015828220370834noreply@blogger.com2