Tag Archives: literature
I mean any chance to be outside, anonymously melting. Any chance to idle beneath clear skies, yet comfortably conditioned. Any chance to drive anonymously, independently, unafraid of those flydown heights. Above the call to arms, yet just below the radar.
Any chance to drive outside, anonymous and on the fringes, for I know if I stay put I’ll fall into a mold. Old maids open windows when they cook, hoping to catch a man. Aging men check for bald spots in the mirror. The mold grows and thickens and constrains, and now the days go zipping in the passing lane, motel after motel, and the end is where you wish it, friend—barring unforeseen calamity.
I can’t stand the desk life, paper-junk ensconced. Stack and stacks of business. Drawers and drawers of documents, dividers blue green yellow red and purple. The only rainbow you’ll ever see, inside. And the landscape is a whitewashed wall, clock and pictures pegged and hanging. The landscape in the pictures; it’s only a conception. It provokes imagination, but this is not encouraged in the cubicle. They want you to power through. They want you to listen to their slogans, fix your tie, adjust your glasses, bite your lip and put those hours in. I mean, you may just get promoted.
Comments Off | tags: brian, celebrity, excerpt, fiction, job, literature, looney, office, poetry, prose, short, work, writing | posted in Poems
He left the cigarette smoldering in the tray. When he returned it had decomposed into a finely-figured rail of ash, which collapsed and demolished at the first touch of breath.
One minute clearly identifiable, and the next it’s incoherent. One minute contours perfect, and the next it’s insubstantial. The slightest wisp of a disturbance and it’s Altered. Dispersed. Erased.
Like an ancient mummy, preserved by the steady, immobile tomb, whose very air had not been touched for eons. But then up close, the slightest wisp of a disturbance spends it shattering to pieces. And he just shrugs and lights another.
Comments Off | tags: ash, brian, cigarette, destruction, fiction, literature, looney, poetry, prose, return, time, writer, writing | posted in Poems
If you like to drive yourself,
push and strain and reach,
you may find that the end
to which you strive is but
a shade, and you may pass
right through to the other side,
journey at an end,
and the way ahead
resembles the path
behind, now that your
target has been reached.
And what you thought
was an end turned
out to be a mere
continuation, a mere
crest, nowhere near
the finish, if there is
indeed a finish, a cessation
of effort, like death,
but still you breathe,
and though you’ve made
some progress, you have
hardly reached a stopping point.
But at least you made it
pretty far, made it to the markers,
and the way before you’s undiscovered,
and you take a timid step,
and you hope to gain direction,
but you don’t know where to go.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, destination, existentialism, futility, goal, literature, looney, poetry, travel, writing | posted in Poems
Well I haven’t written for the website in a couple weeks. I’m not sorry. It’s not that I haven’t been writing. I’ve been working as much as ever. Trying my hand with short stories. It’s going pretty well.
I’m getting tired of pushing myself every day for this website. There was a time I needed to post daily. It was a mental need. Especially when I was new to sobriety. I had to make myself felt. But general disillusionment with the reading/publishing process causes me to clam up. Why am I sweating for this website when I could be applying my talents elsewhere? I’ve got nothing to prove. Instead of, say, barfing some words out every morning, I think I’m gonna dumb it down to two or three pieces a week.
I don’t respond well to obligation. If I write every day for this site, I’m not free. I’m duty-bound to write. As a result, it loses much of its joy, and I can’t have that. I begin to half-ass my work, and then convince myself it’s good. And I can’t have that. I can’t grow weary of writing. It’s all I love. Tragic, but true.
So, I’m not dead or anything. Just striving for balance.
Later.
Comments Off | tags: brian, literature, looney, poetry, update, writing | posted in Poems
Comments Off | tags: art, audio, brian, literature, looney, piece, poetry, reading, spoken, waiting, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly
Isn’t it remarkable
how far our voices carry,
out on the dormant sea
in dead of night,
with nothing to impede
their progress,
no competing
gutturals or
interrupting
shrieks?
As quiet as a tomb,
a void the voice
disturbs,
for the silence
was complete,
before it mortared
through the center
and maintained a
grim bombardment.
One recovers status,
ears attuned to listen
to the slurring
intonations
of a disembodied,
brandy-hardened,
smoke-concluded
voice,
whose origins are
localized, at first,
before it shifts position,
and rushes from all sides.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, perspective, poetry, quiet, sound, surreal, wave, writing | posted in Poems
Silent trauma,
written plainly,
even comically,
for the situation
isn’t one for
silent trauma.
Silent trauma’s
presence in this
atmosphere is
rather ludicrous,
since no one’s life
is at stake,
since the discomfort
is only temporary.
Silent trauma’s
eyes are creased,
her cheeks are haggard,
her brows are knit,
her lips are pursed,
and she just wants
to make it through the night.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, deep, heavy, literature, looney, poetry, prose, short, writing | posted in Poems
The pink skirt twirls,
the lace-fluff symmetry,
southwestern design.
And her thighs peek out,
just a couple inches,
just above the knees,
but it’s provocative
enough.
The pink skirt twirls,
flies on course,
flicking round
the stationary
hips,
which
move to
absorb the
motion.
And her thighs peek out,
beneath the curtain,
between the knees and shapely,
just a little further’s
all I need.
Comments Off | tags: arousal, brian, dark, humor, literature, looney, lust, poetry, romance, sexy, skirt, writing | posted in Poems
Ragged angled construct.
Ragged edgy buzz.
Ragged table saw.
Ragged tooth-blade whir.
Ragged bite and spit.
Ragged part and slide.
Ragged thumb and finger.
Comments Off | tags: brian, dark, humor, literature, looney, piece, poetry, ragged, saw, short, writing | posted in Poems
Odessa,
git inside and eat your supper
‘afore it gits cold,
I’m only gonna tell you once.
Odessa,
mind you don’t doddle,
Lord I know how the child gets,
once you tell her to do somethin’
she dun’t wanna do.
Odessa,
just leave them boys alone,
they’ll be there tomorrow,
besides it ain’t proper for a girl
of your age to consort with such,
you need to make some female
acquaintance.
Odessa,
put your napkin on your lap
and fold your hands in prayer,
like a proper lady,
I ain’t raisin’ no tomcat,
an’ your father ain’t neither.
Comments Off | tags: brian, humor, literature, looney, odessa, poetry, south, southern, tone, voice, writing | posted in Poems
You have a wholesome feel.
You have a seamless grace.
You have a quiet glance.
You have a giving glow.
Comments Off | tags: brian, desire, glow, literature, longing, looney, need, poetry, romance, short, want, writing | posted in Poems
On board,
the landscape whirs,
a motley blotch of sand and leaf,
and up ahead I can see track wind
and weave on through the mountainside.
On board,
the cars rumble,
jostle from side to side,
because the way, though smooth,
is still a little trainride rough.
On board,
my fellow passengers lament,
my itinerant bedfellows,
my wandering malcontents.
On board,
the silence and the tracks,
the regular kah-chunk across
the railroad ties, laid some time ago
by migrant,
underpaid
wage-slaves.
Comments Off | tags: brian, class, dark, deep, itinerant, literature, looney, marxist, poetry, state, wandering, writing | posted in Poems
Back it goes,
and I don’t know
from which end it sprang,
from which pole,
or even what you call it.
I just feel one must
return a borrowed item
in a timely manner,
and in respectful silence.
Back it goes,
and I should have
paid attention,
because it’s either
north or south,
nevermind the east
and west.
But set it on the shelf,
and it looks like it belongs,
blends into the scene,
occupies a space,
successfully returned.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, bizarre, borrowing, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, poetry, returned, writing | posted in Poems
- This week I read the piece from February 23, Unhinged. I love the way it flows, the sense of derangement, the hypnotic rhythm. Not to toot my own horn, but that’s what strikes me most about it. Unhinged.
- Click to listen ——> Unhinged
Comments Off | tags: art, audio, brian, dark, literature, looney, performance, poetry, reading, spoken, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly, Poems
Uplifted,
because it warms my insides and enlivens my mind. The way a smile appears when contentment is restored, the once-grave engine churning. Cold at first, with squeaking belts, and the rat-a-tat puttering that is a struggle.
Uplifted,
because the internal combustion reaches its ideal state. That is, it chomps and munches the fuel in an efficient manner, the manner in which it was designed. A controlling self-sufficiency, so long as there is fuel aplenty.
Uplifted,
because I turned the key and caught the spark, made use of the dancing blue speck, from which all life is born. For of course it all started with the proto-flame, which chains into reactions, whose end-result is complexity, advancement and complexity. And then, warmed through, fulfillment.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, dark, engine, literature, looney, mood, poetry, running, spark, temperament, writing | posted in Poems
Well they really take it out of me. Although I’m not quite sure how. How one day it’s present and the next it’s sapped. I don’t think there’s any formula or code, or methodology. In fact it seems quite random.
Some days they take it out of me. Some days it bounces off. And I seek to acquire that which causes bouncing. Certainly an outlook. But I think it’s some hidden arithmetic which, if properly played and calculated, will yield the bouncing technique.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, creativity, dark, drive, energy, fatigue, humor, literature, looney, poetry, temperament, writing | posted in Poems
- This week I read the piece from February 19, Dislike. Anybody who has been a waiter or a waitress will know what I’m talking about. Sometimes I just can’t stand the song and dance, particularly if my work week has been balls to the wall busy. It’s not like I have another job or anything. So I’ll write dark, bitter, humorous work instead of punching them all in the face. Ten years in the service industry have turned me into a curmudgeon. Your nicest table can turn into your meanest. Your meanest table can turn into your nicest. I’ll get your food out, and I’ll keep your drinks filled, but I’ll be damned before I talk to hungry animals.
- Click to listen —–> Dislike
Comments Off | tags: art, brian, dark, industry, literature, looney, poetry, reading, service, spoken, word, work, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly
When I meet her eyes,
I see understanding,
an intelligent listening,
for her soft-spoken manner
rouses my attention.
I hate it when
they’re loud, outspoken,
shooting off about themselves,
trumpeting their knowledge,
when all it takes is simple
cogitation to prove
the value of the mind.
I knew she was deep
as soon as I met her,
that throaty, deliberate voice,
assured, pronounced, husky,
which gets me listening,
and needing
to take her
in my embrace.
Comments Off | tags: affection, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, poetry, romance, short, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
In the information age I can view the entire world through a monitor screen. I can see things in such resolution that they seem to be there before me, in the physical. Sounds I can pick up in the clearest, most accurate detail. Pictures capture color and design in the most unprecedented ways….And you want to see more imagery, more imagery in my work. There’s too much imagery, in my opinion. Get on the internet, and you are hammered by it. Far better to pursue a theme, a symbol, a concept, than an image.
Comments Off | tags: brian, contemporary, critical, current, cynical, dark, literature, looney, publication, publishers, writer's, writing | posted in Poems
- Hello and I hope everyone’s Valentine’s Day was good. I worked at the restaurant and made a bundle of money off the little lovebirds. Personally, I don’t really like or dislike V Day. It’s just another day for me, and one that happens to bring in the crowds. Nevertheless, I hope your love life is all you want it to be. Anyways, today I read the short from February 11, Morning Mind. Enjoy.
- Click to listen —-> Morning Mind
Comments Off | tags: art, brian, cerebral, literature, looney, poetry, reading, short, spoken, voice, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly
To enjoy the smoke one must possess a myriad of frustrations and anxieties, and perhaps
regrets. One must summon them, ball them, inhale them—wait for the burn, the brackish
overload, and then kah-chunk the species out.
And watch them wisp and eddy, warping up-upward, destination sky.
And watch them thin, weaken, disperse,
imagined purged combusted,
for that explains their
disappearance.
Comments Off | tags: anxiety, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, poetry, release, smoke, strain, tobacco, writing | posted in Poems
The vertical, hanging blinds shield the morning sun. One of them swings from side to side like an off-white pendulum; steady, swaying motions which allow a slip of rust-gold sunlight through. As it moves, the line elongates, then backtracks on itself. Like it dots on in then rolls back out. In and out, charge and flee, hypnotically. Painted on the carpet as if it belongs there, and then vanishing, erasing, dissipating. I wish it would make up its mind.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, humor, literature, looney, morning, poetry, short, surreal, writing | posted in Poems
She extended her arm,
spread her fingers,
cast a spell,
and on her face,
a look of triumph.
I recall her in
that poise,
unacknowledged
until now,
although it had
been present
all along.
It overtook
my brain without
my consent,
my knowledge,
and must be
weakening,
for now my
consciousness
rebels.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, control, dark, humor, literature, looney, poetry, power, rebellion, writing | posted in Poems
- Today I read the piece from February 6, Oblivious. Recently in Albuquerque, a boy was killed by a train while walking along the tracks, as described in the piece. It called to my mind questions of existence. To be violently snuffed out by a train, completely unaware of it up to the very point of death is remarkable. Tragic, but darkly humorous from an existentialist/absurdist perspective. We’re all so self-important–far too self-important–and it could happen at anytime: strangely, unpredictably, insanely.
- Click to listen —–> Oblivious
Comments Off | tags: brian, dark, death, existentialism, humor, literature, looney, poetry, reading, spoken, tragedy, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly
His favorite song
blared through
the earplugs,
as he walked
along the tracks,
out of school
and embracing
liberation.
I wonder why
he chose to march
the train track?
Was it the winding
stretch, the segmented
ties, the parallel rails
of steel, to add a certain
industrial realism?
I wonder what song
he blasted,
what tune drowned
the Amtrack’s warning
blast
as it hurtled up
behind him,
rapidly domineering?
Did he see its shadow
loom, or was it all
freedom, music, travel
just before the rampart
connected with his back
and rammed him
into roadkill,
or should I say,
trackkill?
Did the music stop,
or did the player
play, the computer
function, in spite
of loss of life,
as the engine
screeched
to a halt,
miles, miles
further down,
further past
the broken,
bleeding
youth?
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, death, literature, looney, mexico, new, poetry, track, tragedy, train, writing | posted in Poems
If she doesn’t
respect your work,
she doesn’t respect you.
For what is my work
but an extension
of myself?
I will not push it
in her face,
I may not ask
for her opinion,
but I may just subtly
drop it in.
And if her silence
reigns,
I know she
disapproves.
Perhaps she wants
to part me
from my
reason for
existence,
or change it
to suit her
ill-begotten
tastes,
or supplant
herself,
and in so doing,
stand between
me and it.
But I will never
leave my
work to suit
a woman’s envy;
I owe it more
than she can know.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, art, brian, cerebral, clash, dark, ego, literature, looney, poetry, relationship, will, writing | posted in Poems
The red balloon
goes ‘pop’
and the room
is startled.
Conversations cease,
old men jerk upright,
children leap three feet,
and the rest us
whip our heads.
For the red balloon
had just been filled
and showed no signs
of rupture.
In fact it had that
healthy fullness
characteristic
of fresh helium,
of a happy state,
and no one
expected it
to burst
like that.
Comments Off | tags: balloon, brian, cerebral, dark, death, literature, looney, poetry, random, sudden, surprise, writing | posted in Poems
I have known hunger and privation.
Not as much as some,
but enough to make
a monster.
Comments Off | tags: brian, dark, development, hunger, literature, looney, outlook, personality, poetry, short, temperament, writing | posted in Poems
Never stare at the filial face,
never gauge the eyes,
never let it float,
never take it in.
Never stare at the filial face,
always at a glance,
always let it pass,
always look on through.
Never stare at the filial face,
sidle in, scope for change,
slow descent, sag and fold,
many chins appear.
Then I saw her face come up,
inherited by chance,
her haughty, drowsy eyes,
then gone again and no return,
no way to know for sure.
Comments Off | tags: absolutes, age, bizarre, brian, cerebral, dark, filial, inheritance, literature, looney, poetry, writing | posted in Poems
Am I turning
in a circle
?
Am I unlocking
new facets,
or am I treading
the same water,
tilling arid turf
?
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, development, inspiration, literature, looney, poetry, process, progress, short, writing | posted in Poems
A restless night,
populated by short,
intense dreams
followed by long hours
of wakefulness.
And while the dreams
were intense,
I cannot recall
the details,
although I do remember
wandering
in all of them.
And I’m fairly certain
that I snored quite loudly.
It just seems to fit
the equation.
How could I have
dived so deep
without a snoring
bass to keep the time?
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, cerebral, dark, dreams, insomnia, literature, looney, poetry, sleep, snoring, writing | posted in Poems
Poise is comfort, tied to the hip.
A relaxing of the guard.
To be one with self.
Poise is comfort at all times,
even in a situation.
As in the unpredictable,
as when the metal’s tested.
Poise is comfort, uncontrived.
Rejoice as it upwells,
tried and true,
it’s natural enough.
Poise is comfort, uninhibited.
Uninterrupted, undiluted.
A relaxing of the guard.
Soon to be announced.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, air, brian, cerebral, confidence, dark, literature, looney, outlook, poetry, poise, writing | posted in Poems
Like a creature
from the surf
that the sea
has carried in.
With unsteady knees
it begins to stand,
drenched in salty
afterbirth,
while mother ocean
kisses, licks, and
then sets loose.
For the mother knows
her work is done,
and although the creature
seeks return,
she carries
him back to shore.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, development, growth, literature, looney, mother, ocean, poetry, shore, short, writing | posted in Poems
Certain brooding qualities
bestir the air
around me.
Maybe it’s a set of the head,
a frown about the mouth,
my far-distracted eyes,
my point-protracted brows.
Or perhaps it is my parted lips,
mouthing silently the lines
which give me trouble,
or the words that give me joy.
But mainly
it’s the abstract search
which empowers
my detachment,
which flavors
my estrangement.
Comments Off | tags: analysis, brian, cerebral, dark, image, introspective, literature, looney, perspective, poetry, self, writing | posted in Poems
That phone just never rings, I stare and will it so.
I want something to start.
That phone just never rings, never the way I want.
Most times not at all, I brought it on myself.
That phone just never rings, an echo has been sent.
Faint return or none at all, I’m not completely sure.
That phone just never rings, I think my pride is hurt.
Something hurts in here at least, may it cease completely.
That phone just never rings, perhaps I am embittered.
I turn upon myself, a target at the center.
Comments Off | tags: attention, boredom, brian, communication, dark, humor, literature, looney, phone, poetry, writing | posted in Poems
It flickers when you bring it in. Lack of oxygen.
Flighty plumes, extinguishment.
Much like the fading
sound of song,
once its time
is spent.
It sputters when you bring it in. As if in hesitation.
As if it sensed the tremble in your arm.
Your waterlogged
uncertainty,
your smothering
descension.
It trembles when you bring it in.
It goes a little blue.
Coldly sinks into itself
for lack of any fuel.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, desire, feeling, flame, literature, looney, mood, poetry, short, writing | posted in Poems
Liquid fills your
cupturned hands,
religiously proffered,
as if the draining stream
held several sacred properties.
And the way you stare
into your cupturned hands,
you’d think that visions
dance upon the water’s
clear-glaze surface,
communicating purpose.
But I don’t trust
the sights within
your cupturned hands;
I don’t accept your
dreamy diagnoses.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, poetry, profane, religious, skepticism, vision, writing | posted in Poems
- I chose to read the piece, Bridge, from January 17th. The brief piece explores recollection and cognition: the assimilation of memory, a self-seeking motif which is prevalent in a lot of my work.
- Give it a listen; I hope you enjoy ——-> Bridge
Comments Off | tags: abstract, art, brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, performance, poetry, spoken, word, writing | posted in Looney Speaks Weekly
It was such
a blur, in fact,
that I have
merely pings
of recollection
to fill the gaps
in time: enough
to cause familiar gasps
of understanding,
but not enough
to bridge it all together.
It was such a blur,
that the shock of its passing
weighs heavily on my spirit,
for I cannot comprehend
the alteration of circumstance
without a comprehensive struggle,
without a sturdy bridge to link
the distanced hemisphere.
Comments Off | tags: brian, bridge, cerebral, challenging, dark, insanity, literature, looney, passage, poetry, recollection, time, writing | posted in Poems
You won’t be able
to return,
for your actions
whims decisions
have pushed your
brain far past your
purer state, and
changed your
very core.
Your loves,
your memories,
have been recolored,
if not entirely
rewritten,
your associations
severed,
retracted,
and your ego
in-between.
You won’t be able
to return,
for it is a
one-way trip,
fraught with
many dangers,
many scenic and
alluring altitudes,
which terrify
and isolate,
which scramble
all your safety zones,
set off your alarms,
perpetually ringing.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, exploration, insanity, isolation, literature, looney, mental, poetry, return, truth-seeking, writing | posted in Poems
I have sat and listened to persona. I’ve sat and listened to the practiced fool. The studied, careful voice. The evened, deepened syllables.
I’ve been around the businessmen. I’ve listened to their rot, their professional mien. I’ve sat and listened to persona. I can’t abide its falsehood.
The routine voice, the trained projection. Informative and curt. Like pages from the manual. Quotation and quotation. Bullets, numbers, paragraphs.
At odds with the official. The fear just underneath. The nerves just underneath. Wanting for simplicity. Wanting for security. But in the end a farce.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, facade, farce, literature, looney, mask, persona, poetry, prose, writing | posted in Poems
Keep what you offer.
I’ll pass it up,
wedded to my
pride,
to the romanticism
of opportunities
missed,
and I
myself,
the masochist,
will relish
the mournful
dive,
although it
greys and
ages.
Comments Off | tags: ambition, brian, cerebral, dark, insanity, literature, looney, nerve, nostalgia, poetry, short, writing | posted in Poems
Slipping,
slowly,
because
the dream
is yet beyond
my reach,
while my drive
crumbles
the earth
at my feet.
Slipping,
slowly,
because
I cannot yet
define my own
reality, and
my will for
what is not
fogs
the only
windows.
Slipping,
slowly,
because
my need for
progress
shrouds
my sense of self,
renders me
ungracious,
peppers me
with guilt.
Slipping,
slowly,
because
I do not take
the time to
do the things
I need to do,
although their
doing would
stop this
hellacious
internalized
clash
of principle.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, display, literature, looney, outlook, poet, poetry, work, writing | posted in Poems
One’s concept of health is only defined by his relative conception of well-being. That is, I’m only healthy in comparison to yesterday. If illness grows to be one’s expectation(if it is constant, day in and day out) then it becomes the norm. One’s identity is redefined by the illness, and its vile influence colors his or her very outlook, and often brings out the worst.
Comments Off | tags: brian, clarity, cold, health, literature, looney, mood, outlook, perspective, poetry, sickness, virus, writing | posted in Poems
When the words aren’t
in my vision
or at my fingertips,
their fragments,
their debris,
continue to revolve,
so I will reconstruct
their vessels.
I will make
their orbit
clearer.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, literature, looney, memory, organisation, poetry, recite, work, writing | posted in Poems
The identification of an issue, the unbudging roots,
will sap the stress and mute the nerves,
the very strain of its existence.
Then, rationally,
one can deal with it,
knowledgably,
intelligently.
If I can think it
I can write it.
If I can write it
I can solve it.
Comments Off | tags: brian, deduction, empowerment, literature, looney, poetry, problem, reasoning, solution, writing | posted in Poems
Defend me from desensitization, for some folk see it as a strength. To look on horrors without a twitch, without a flinch. Internally, they admire this quality, when in fact the reality of the thing is lost, or pushed aside, or veiled beneath the so-called silver screen–until their appreciation for violent acts becomes commonplace, hopelessly commonplace, while the reality of the thing is lost on them.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, art, brian, desensitization, literature, looney, media, poetry, violence, writing | posted in Poems
You’re gonna burnout somewhere, sometime. Better to burnout while in motion, when the mind is occupied, when its engines are otherwise engaged-rather than idling and dwelling, dwelling and idling. Have you ever sat and listened to the rumble?
Although one may take a strange delight in soft decline, and the compensating influences which patch the weak points, which flare the pride, which seal the habits.
And the struggle to remain unchanged in the face of change may imbue a new ambition, a new livelihood, a new perspective. Which is change itself, but change with a different face.
Comments Off | tags: brian, cerebral, dark, decay, growth, literature, looney, perspective, poetry, searching, writing | posted in Poems
Bang-bang,
twenty-twelve,
clutch your chest,
your replacement
is here at last.
Bang-bang,
twenty-twelve,
you’ve had your fun,
it’s time to end,
to step down
from the pedestal.
Bang-bang,
twenty-twelve,
your one-two heart
is bullet-ridden,
I guess one-three
will serve us too.
Comments Off | tags: brian, dark, end, literature, looney, new, outlook, poetry, start, writing, year | posted in Poems
Single file,
one by one,
hand by hand,
eye by eye,
face by face,
awaiting.
Single file,
patience tested,
papal paupers,
patents pending,
papers shift.
Single file,
single line,
singly dealt,
singled shorts,
singling out,
but mingled.
Comments Off | tags: abstract, brian, bureaucracy, business, dark, experimental, literature, looney, poetry, waiting, writing | posted in Poems
