All the others survived
for survival's sake
we drank wine and sang
we did what others didn't have the heart to do
we dined on the regret of each other and gave
our blood and sat until we laughed
Not every one has a reason or even a ghost of reason
even before the mermen dreamed
Micheal Malatov wrote something about bombing the moon.
I used to fix rockets that held bombs
If I were a rocket and you were the moon, you wouldn't let me do you?
this is a re-write of a re-write from memory
Miss you!
or stuff I did in highschool
The joke among men: the size of self and the attrition of facets
in the light of morning
Half done desire sits idle, mild men
strapped up by beauty in bed
what madness or sorrow brings
a blight of will?
wit but fragments for a few alive as shadows
we alone hold the refuge of hearts, the stammer of self, and the will of
legions past the report of rumors ripped through memory
a gathering of sounds
our noise is next
writing: read below a like: thin ripped pens
your luck is with you
spread around to find you're thankfully
thicker than a pad of butter
but not thick enough to make the ridiculous safe
just remember, a slew of adieus might not make them all go away
life attracts life and we're alive—a gathering of things making other things
gather like our selves
or Systemic Lords Born of Doors
"I'm bored," he wrote
"Crap," I thought, "Pure Crap"
I thought hard and shutdown
then cleaned off my screen
this evening you rumba and I eat salsa
Tomorrow that's all I think of for an hour; spend the whole day thinking of tomatoes, peppers and your Rumba, even if all that really happens is clicking and banging on machines
I'm writing you hopefully that counts for something.
I pulled lines out of my wallet, wads of paper. More paper than you can shake a stick at. Lines wrought in the nothing of the air that surrounds a half-drunken man in a bar with a quickened, bourboned mind. What I stole from you has been modified. It's has a confused history.
Hope you're well.
My twin is running around here somewhere and he's a nastier mother fucker than I am, I tell you
And that's sayin' something
again
at a poetry reading
upper limit poetry
|
|
|
|
|
lower limit testosterone-laced conversation about American Pie
quick its seagulls eyes
squiggly lines mean nothing
our basements are full of cheap, ugly things
ok, that was dumb, but I feel like fescue
the plant I'd name Robert,
my grass
my Robert lawn
but that would be wrong
now
wouldn't it?
ok, that was dumber
pop
shit
fescue
Fast is fast
at last
it won't change the facts
they were there already
those two bear fruit
amazed
at last
it won't change the facts
they were there already
those two bear fruit
amazed
Steak forsakes stakeI M
Mobile break
E D
Senseless leg
L C
you knew it would happen
S Q
overdue on either finger
T H
Toes to multiply with
U W
shake fur
Y K
they all saw ceilings and elbows
A P
His planet provides privileges
J E
I gave up my pancreas for this?
N B
a new moon hides behind us.
here you go
rubber buckets for your bullshit
a scratch at further shock
pick me up some slop
loose along limits
three more times
than any other thing thought of
so here we are
a mad rush of veins
a portable pump
halved by right and left
at least we weren't too wrong
you're right
we should have stopped it.
Frank Sauce
- By Jeffrey Bershaw
- from Portland, OR
- I'll try to write as little as possible. I'm a little man with high hopes, pipe dreams and little machines inside that keep me writing.
- More About Frank Sauce
- Painting by Anna Todaro
Recent Sections
Sections
- September 2005
- October 2005
- November 2005
- February 2006
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- December 2006
- January 2007
- February 2007
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- August 2007
- September 2007
- October 2007
- November 2007
- December 2007
- January 2008
- February 2008
- March 2008
- April 2008
- May 2008
- June 2008
- October 2008
- January 2009
- February 2009
- April 2009
- May 2009
- June 2009
- July 2009
- August 2009
- September 2009
- October 2009
Frank's Favorites
(odorless)- Earwater Press
- Crag Hill's Poetry Scorecard
- Mark Scroggins-Culture Industry
- Robert Archambeau[x]-Samizdat
- Waggish - Essayist, Bookish
- Daily/O'Grady
- Raymond Federman
- Masovich-dyslexistential mass missives
- Trevor Dodge
- Matt Briggs' Seed Cake
- Tom Beckett's "Chiaroscuro Metropoli"
- Ofelia Hunt
Feed Me
ATOM 0.3