delightfulmentalproblem.wordpress.com
Cassie and L.A. | My Delightful Mental Problems
https://delightfulmentalproblem.wordpress.com/2013/02/08/cassie-and-l-a
My Delightful Mental Problems. February 8, 2013} Cassie and L.A. What the hell is wrong. With Los Angeles today! Have we decided to become. New York in the 80’s? There’s potholes in the roads,. Our schools are fucking warzones,. The garbage don’t get picked up. And that dead gangbanger on the sidewalk. Is getting kind of ripe…. Fuck it. This could make a girl. Seriously consider the Inland Empire. Or, God forbid,. Cassie @ 11:10 pm [filed under Uncategorized. You zinged me with the last line. You are com...
thepoeticorchard.wordpress.com
Oh, Death? | The Poetic Orchard
https://thepoeticorchard.wordpress.com/2012/11/30/oh-death
A garden of expression, grown among the stones of the Brooklyn streets. The Poet dies. →. November 30, 2012. E eu vou morrer, esta noite. Meu sangue vai espirrar esta rua. Com sua música escarlate. Eu não vou implorar, nem buscar a minha. Para a sorte que eu procurava. Foi essa morte,. Eu vim a este mundo. Atingido por estrelas e me pergunto. Procurei um sonho de amor. Mas há ma amor aqui,. E a minha pátria. A morte, em breve. E transitória para mim. Eu procuro não há vida para além. E um amante sem amor.
goflo1.wordpress.com
The Touch of the Master (for Mr Eric Gale) | Reader, Meet Author
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/2012/11/11/the-touch-of-the-master-for-mr-eric-gale
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. November 11, 2012. The Touch of the Master (for Mr Eric Gale). The world I live in. Is a cold one. Everything in it’s channel. That’s why I take. The risks I do. The men, the drugs. And I steal from stores. To get out of. I came to a place. Wild men, men with. No fear of dying or. And I came,. To read the poets. And that’s where. I found the true,. It is also where. I learned how cruel. Liars who use words l. Ike burglar’s tools. But there was one.
goflo1.wordpress.com
Bird | Reader, Meet Author
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/2013/05/15/bird
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. May 15, 2013. Is the sky the sea to a bird? Is the sea the night sky, undending. To wing, to claw, to tiny bone. To feather, to sail. The House of Suits. It’s About Time →. 3 thoughts on “ Bird. May 26, 2013 at 7:18 pm. This made me feel so free. May 29, 2013 at 7:17 pm. June 21, 2013 at 9:26 pm. This is beautiful, so beautiful! Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Poetry, prose, ...
goflo1.wordpress.com
Molly Ringwald’s Dad | Reader, Meet Author
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/2013/09/14/molly-ringwalds-dad
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. September 14, 2013. Molly Ringwald’s Dad. You look like the kind of guy. Who would have played Molly Ringwald’s dad. In a mid 80’s John Hughes movie. When she was still fresh and pretty. That is not to say you look old. Just conservative and kind of distinguished. Which makes me moderately curious. To see just how far I can corrupt you. The hearts says one thing, the head. Says somethign else and the little demon. Between my legs is saying. Enter your...
goflo1.wordpress.com
Lucky for You | Reader, Meet Author
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/2012/10/14/lucky-for-you
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. October 14, 2012. It’s lucky for you. That I am patient. And will wait for a. Break in your work. It’s lucky for you. I’m not precious. Or insist on being seen. At more exclusive locales,. It’s lucky for you. I don’t mind you forgetting. My brithday, or our. It’s lucky for you. I’m not the jealous type. Because I know about. The trash you haul ’round,. It’s lucky for you. I tolerate soft drugs. And it’s lucky for you. That I don’t mind. You are commen...
goflo1.wordpress.com
The Heart | Reader, Meet Author
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/2013/01/15/the-heart
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. January 15, 2013. The heart, boiling blood coursing. Pumping, red and black. Anger, passion, the heart. So hungry, ever wanting and. Tearing at its walls of flesh to run. The heart, oh the heart. Its maker for cursing it. The heart is wiful and ignorant and guilty. Of crimes that would put. A needle in its arm. In 38 states tomorrow. So full of blood. Will not stop beating, even in death. In time will not ever. The House of Suits →. It’s About T...
goflo1.wordpress.com
Reader, Meet Author | A place for my silly poems, etc. | Page 2
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/page/2
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. October 4, 2012. There is no road to Damascus moment. There is just the cloudy drive home. Missing him, and never knowing. If you will feel his touch again. The doors of Damascus are dark and seal well. And the light does not shine in. As daybreak dawns on the perfect lawns. And the myth that we are safe from harm. For how can we be safe from damage. When our hearts are so mad and hungry? The minute I drive that road, home to shelter. September 5, 2012.
goflo1.wordpress.com
Be Gold | Reader, Meet Author
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/2013/10/11/be-gold
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. October 11, 2013. The world is a sunset. Is the mist, rising. I feel love is numbered. Who is there for me? I look at you, thought. And I think “be gold tonight”. Our days are few. We should live them. In the sweetness,. Put tomorrow out of your mind. Molly Ringwald’s Dad. One thought on “ Be Gold. October 21, 2013 at 7:14 am. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. The House of Suits.
goflo1.wordpress.com
The House of Suits | Reader, Meet Author
https://goflo1.wordpress.com/2013/02/06/the-house-of-suits
Reader, Meet Author. A place for my silly poems, etc. February 6, 2013. The House of Suits. In the house of suits. Maybe the whispered shuffle. Of a chair gliding from a table. The is distant crunch of gravel. Under a costly-leathered foot. The dull crump of a car door. The dust shines like amber. As the morning sunlight strikes it. As silent housemaids hover. Attending each lone mote. The madam slinks in spirals. Down the master stairway. Eyes glazed and oblivious. To the passing of the days. Enter your...