racist poem 1.
Between
the Ashkenazi Jews
and
the nice Irish folks
that tolerate us,
you'd think
there
would be
a
decent
fried potato
of some kind
near my house,
even at
this hour
on Shabbos.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
recovery
Spent poets
don't die,
their words
just change hands,
returned to the register
then passed out again
for change
on promises
bigger
than the price
I thought
when I didn't use my words,
I'd get to hoard them,
that Webster would give me
his signet ring and say,
Okay Ruby,
here come those years of famine,
so before your syllables
devour everything in sight
and still aren't one millionth as fat as you,
lock them up and
pass them out sparingly.
Instead of mics,
hit doors.
Instead of crowds yearning
for black belts on paper,
try talking to people
who want to shoot
the next person that knocks on their door,
people burned so bad
piles of ashes form themselves
into mouthes to say DAYUM!
and send them moisturizer.
Instead of rocking in my house,
try rocking a block where every
single
house
is boarded up,
and the doughboys
tell you Reagan was gangsta.
At least they know.
But I saved up.
And it wasn't enough.
cars were made into tanks.
and i traded rhymes
for trying to change the times,
maybe now I get my words back.
don't die,
their words
just change hands,
returned to the register
then passed out again
for change
on promises
bigger
than the price
I thought
when I didn't use my words,
I'd get to hoard them,
that Webster would give me
his signet ring and say,
Okay Ruby,
here come those years of famine,
so before your syllables
devour everything in sight
and still aren't one millionth as fat as you,
lock them up and
pass them out sparingly.
Instead of mics,
hit doors.
Instead of crowds yearning
for black belts on paper,
try talking to people
who want to shoot
the next person that knocks on their door,
people burned so bad
piles of ashes form themselves
into mouthes to say DAYUM!
and send them moisturizer.
Instead of rocking in my house,
try rocking a block where every
single
house
is boarded up,
and the doughboys
tell you Reagan was gangsta.
At least they know.
But I saved up.
And it wasn't enough.
cars were made into tanks.
and i traded rhymes
for trying to change the times,
maybe now I get my words back.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Pennsylvania Snacks
this is just to say
I have eaten
pretzels
that were on
the counter
and which
you were probably
saving
for dessert.
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so salty.
I have eaten
pretzels
that were on
the counter
and which
you were probably
saving
for dessert.
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so salty.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
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