A short short poem
by Mrs. Dashh
Gone are the hours of youth
There isn't an open booth.
There isn't one full day without you.
Nothing can separate us, not the erased hours of labor,
or the humming voices of favor. No signed paper, or waiver. Not the crab in my mood or the bone bits in my breakfast sausage.
Not the food grease on my resume or the misunderstandings of persons separated.
Not the dog smell or the bad breathe. Not the evil woman or the arrogant frog.
Nothing can separate us, not the burning up of money or time, and
the extreme awareness and wine.
Gone and faded away are poems and fraying ways.
And the whole while of sweet and sane, loves fire remains
in the cracks and the crevaces. In the waves.
Erased are the years words in books, and the most panged tears dried up in looks.
Wild circumstances, and choices echoe in the cracks and the crevaces of the hallow.
Nothing can separate us, not time, not space, and or the erased face or heart abased. Not the crumbs stuck to my lips, not the camel toe or the bad coffee at home.
Not the enemy or falling ice above my head.
Nothing can separate us, not poison, not windows, or her toes and tatoos of sorrow.
Nothing can spearate us, not tomorrow, nor her memory, not her words or poetry.
Gone are the vanities, the desires, the dreams, fizzled and sizzled into manifested
liens.
What are we still doing here?
Where were we supposed to winter?
The chocolate candy is the most of the fill in the belly. The clock says tick tock. The belly bloats. I float. The tub is hot. The night is not. You are nigh. Dutch apple pie. Just a sugar taste with a pie crust texture and a crisp apple texture. What was a dollar bill doing in the trash can. Do you want to be safe or smart? Do you want to be firm and nice ? Safe and smart?
Chipped nails and hunched shoulders. The roads outside seem cold and broken just as a soul. Cheerios. Defensive. Offensive jabs at the potter? The clay can't say hey.
Lately I've been running around here in circles without a clue since the new.
Without a safe raft to float I'm remote with only prayer to make me vote.
Milk and pie tonight. Surrounded by no reply. So I've replied back to ignored mail for once. A little glimpse given and back in bounds of livin.
No nose pick in. Or cold pole lickin. No bull in the old. It'll set you back to days of old. Ahhh a quiet house without a spouse. These days are belly aching so. Fritos.
Greasy fingers wet with nose pick in snot. No Irish mist just watchin movies with Colin Farel accent and fair actin. Cracked polish remover nails. Toe biting tales of creature habits before magazines struck the focus .
Love love love
Monday, February 10, 2014
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Chicago Row
All I get are glimpses of memories randomly slicing through my thoughts. Shimmering sunlight in my eyes, the pain of the cold winter wind stinging my cheeks, and Chicago breathes sweetly over me. Her beauty pulled me in deep into her abyss of historical heart breaks and success. Today her city nights have touched me and her glorious mornings have astounded me. When I was younger I felt bad for Humpty Dumpty.
Tears everflowing for her every morning pull my heart into the sunrise of Indiana. Hot tears of all I ever wanted burn my throat with joy undeserved of her people, food, cultures, and suffering. Chicago I've let her go, and can her her silently smiling in her city lights flickering through cab windows.
There was one way in and out of her narrow streets drenched in rain water. Urine stained benches and the aroma of beer in the CTA seats brought rainbows to the skyline.
Crushed cars hugged lamp posts and angels looked ghostly if it weren't for their wings. trains sparked up the train tracks in the child of her winters, and joggers fierce her artery trails along her chambers to and from her pumping heart of her loop.
Halle berry hair is my look I'm going to copy. My last pair of pants are salt stained from the snow. I'd rather wear sport bras said Albrie. Her dog died. She never got health insurance and she was always getting the flu.
Albrrie loved chatting and coffee. When her work partner wrote poetry about city nights during coffee visits she found all she ever needed in a cup of coffee. The moong light shined on her bones and she laughed at it.
Her memory of lyrics from rock artists were
All she knew. The gas stations coffee and slush is were insane and her dreams of leaving to Ireland to marry Tod Debian were too awesome to forbear the plane ride.
Her dads truck broke down on the way to work at 8a and there was negative remperatures. It was electric. Smoothies yogurt and farina for breakfast faded by noon into ham sandwiches.
Arrogance set in as the wave of choices blew me into the deep pot holes in Chicago's city streets. Hundred dollar parking tickets keep up with my tempo in the city's high gas prices and taxes.
Where did dreams go? They went into the five dollar shakes and coffee breaks. Where did dreams go they went into the seven dollar shaving creme and hair cuts.
The long daze at the plant outside pushed me to reason. Faith moved me into love. The sweet gummy bear to pass the time. The belly pinch to wake the mind. The dry skin to lotion.
Half eaten nails, tired sorry eyes, a hair on the chin. A frightful grin of pain. The one and only to pass the time away. A little dusting to the house, as to the bathing of the body.
I never before seeked ..no never really as I may have today. If I have sought God before its not as I have today not as ever I can remember.
PS 88 yi am. shut up and cannot seek. I cry....
PS 38
My wounds stink...and fester. ..
Tears everflowing for her every morning pull my heart into the sunrise of Indiana. Hot tears of all I ever wanted burn my throat with joy undeserved of her people, food, cultures, and suffering. Chicago I've let her go, and can her her silently smiling in her city lights flickering through cab windows.
There was one way in and out of her narrow streets drenched in rain water. Urine stained benches and the aroma of beer in the CTA seats brought rainbows to the skyline.
Crushed cars hugged lamp posts and angels looked ghostly if it weren't for their wings. trains sparked up the train tracks in the child of her winters, and joggers fierce her artery trails along her chambers to and from her pumping heart of her loop.
Halle berry hair is my look I'm going to copy. My last pair of pants are salt stained from the snow. I'd rather wear sport bras said Albrie. Her dog died. She never got health insurance and she was always getting the flu.
Albrrie loved chatting and coffee. When her work partner wrote poetry about city nights during coffee visits she found all she ever needed in a cup of coffee. The moong light shined on her bones and she laughed at it.
Her memory of lyrics from rock artists were
All she knew. The gas stations coffee and slush is were insane and her dreams of leaving to Ireland to marry Tod Debian were too awesome to forbear the plane ride.
Her dads truck broke down on the way to work at 8a and there was negative remperatures. It was electric. Smoothies yogurt and farina for breakfast faded by noon into ham sandwiches.
Arrogance set in as the wave of choices blew me into the deep pot holes in Chicago's city streets. Hundred dollar parking tickets keep up with my tempo in the city's high gas prices and taxes.
Where did dreams go? They went into the five dollar shakes and coffee breaks. Where did dreams go they went into the seven dollar shaving creme and hair cuts.
The long daze at the plant outside pushed me to reason. Faith moved me into love. The sweet gummy bear to pass the time. The belly pinch to wake the mind. The dry skin to lotion.
Half eaten nails, tired sorry eyes, a hair on the chin. A frightful grin of pain. The one and only to pass the time away. A little dusting to the house, as to the bathing of the body.
I never before seeked ..no never really as I may have today. If I have sought God before its not as I have today not as ever I can remember.
PS 88 yi am. shut up and cannot seek. I cry....
PS 38
My wounds stink...and fester. ..
Monday, February 3, 2014
water
All the Indiana snow is packed high up along sidewalks and streets. Dreams as Feri sleeps are just a blur each morning on her way to work. Feri a young Italian girl works at the cafe on Enter street.
There isn't much to do all with only ten dollars a week but go to the cinema to take her mind off of work her weight problem and debt that all keep her snowed in her little room in the attic.
There she does 100 crunches and jump ropes while listening to talk radio shows about world news. Feri 38 years old divorced mother of three high school graduates who are all away at university.
She loves animals and politics. She isn't into cake or cheese burgers. It makes her laugh to think of where her dollar lands.
Sitting at work on break is a time to eat and go back to work. She is good at research work, collecting data for others and so Feri avoids all social contract when possible. She often told her children not to be hard on their selves and to look at the good in people.
"You'll be alone all your life," says her papa.
"You want to stay the same or youd change." Said her ma.
The cafes water heater was broke. The sink flooded. High turn over rates in staff turned everyone into constant boat rockers to see who would get wet and fall overboard next. A.k.a. who would last or leave the job and how.
How was is that finger nails were uneven?
What? Sweaty wet socks from the snow, time to get up its time to go again alone face the cold winter dark.
What? Pants to pull up and off just as everyone else. Embracing the world as a pilgrim in a foreign land. Minutes fall away with chance. Nothing is impossible. Toothpaste is always the same. It comes out of the tube the same and in the middl of the night that is comforting. Brushing my teeth sucks. Its minutes before work and I'm waiing for the last second to go. My frozen truck needs more time in the morning and I am stuck listening to the churning of my mind. Its foggy and tired.
The make up while she drives on her face is not enough. The food stains on the carpet and her pants keep her distracted.
Huh?
Did you hang up on me? Asked her boss.
What do you mean? In you no. Think getting fired was the worst thing after making a choice to live is then worser.
an impossible thing to give is the soul
to good gum chewers.
there isn't enough cob webs what is there to do to clean. Greasy french fries off and on with the trauma of death by vegetables stories.
There isn't much to do all with only ten dollars a week but go to the cinema to take her mind off of work her weight problem and debt that all keep her snowed in her little room in the attic.
There she does 100 crunches and jump ropes while listening to talk radio shows about world news. Feri 38 years old divorced mother of three high school graduates who are all away at university.
She loves animals and politics. She isn't into cake or cheese burgers. It makes her laugh to think of where her dollar lands.
Sitting at work on break is a time to eat and go back to work. She is good at research work, collecting data for others and so Feri avoids all social contract when possible. She often told her children not to be hard on their selves and to look at the good in people.
"You'll be alone all your life," says her papa.
"You want to stay the same or youd change." Said her ma.
The cafes water heater was broke. The sink flooded. High turn over rates in staff turned everyone into constant boat rockers to see who would get wet and fall overboard next. A.k.a. who would last or leave the job and how.
How was is that finger nails were uneven?
What? Sweaty wet socks from the snow, time to get up its time to go again alone face the cold winter dark.
What? Pants to pull up and off just as everyone else. Embracing the world as a pilgrim in a foreign land. Minutes fall away with chance. Nothing is impossible. Toothpaste is always the same. It comes out of the tube the same and in the middl of the night that is comforting. Brushing my teeth sucks. Its minutes before work and I'm waiing for the last second to go. My frozen truck needs more time in the morning and I am stuck listening to the churning of my mind. Its foggy and tired.
The make up while she drives on her face is not enough. The food stains on the carpet and her pants keep her distracted.
Huh?
Did you hang up on me? Asked her boss.
What do you mean? In you no. Think getting fired was the worst thing after making a choice to live is then worser.
an impossible thing to give is the soul
to good gum chewers.
there isn't enough cob webs what is there to do to clean. Greasy french fries off and on with the trauma of death by vegetables stories.
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