coffy_okc

Under summer skies
Douchebaggery runs rampant
Emo bithes whine

Thanks gnat!

The mystic he’d been studying under
Smelled the liquor on his breath
And asked him to leave, no lesson.
He went out
And got a cheese burger
Breaking another of his vows.
The motorcycle ride,sheltered by the back of his friend's boyfriend,
Those few moments on the highway when
The wind whirled within his shirt, spread his clothes wide as angel's robes to expose
His brittle torso
raised
Tiny hairs on his legs and arms
Was the first time
He really felt like a man, he says.
He later got a lap dance from a lovely black woman with long black legs and long black synthetic braids called
PokeAHotAss, and though she didn't make his flesh less gay, she made his heart more happy
And they immediately connected
And they talked and laughed and drank after her shift came to an end.

The next morning, only slightly hung over, mostly nostalgic
He remembers how the mystic had looked so sad, so very disappointed and so sad.
He missed out, he says. My mind was open and
I was ready to talk. I was the happiest little shit on earth.
I realized I don’t need this to find enlightenment.
I tasted enlightenment last night.
A charming, gay bartender at the HiLo Lounge poured it into a shot glass
And I wore it on my lips
And then
I drank it down.

Everything you’ve seen Rambo do, I’ve done
He says, but neither of us laugh.
It’s not enough of an exaggeration to be funny
And nobody would want to watch that shit
Without the makeup and scripting and orchestral score.
He’s straight out of central casting –
The Native American chief, regal as hell
In ball cap and jeans, still as the eye of a
Storm of grey hair and cigarette smoke

He came by for the last time this morning
For coffee, just like a human, though as always
He drank it outside on the patio.
He had just left the old lady at the hospital
The sweet old battleaxe who, the last time she came along for coffee,
Smoked at the pastry counter until she was asked to leave
And smiled all the way out the door.
She’s not coming home, he says, she’s not coming back
To the home he cleansed, walking from room to room with sage
To bring her peace. She was the only person
He’d gotten to know in 10 years, the reason he didn’t leave town
Two days after he’d gotten here in his RV, fitted with tools
And covered with five kinds of siding.

Vietnam, Korea, Philippines, Florida, Japan, New Mexico, Oklahoma
No plans for next.
In Japan, in the forest, he once saw a unicorn,
Found an ancient tribe in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, where he lived
For three months before the ranger spotted his RV.
People don’t see things
Because they are not quiet, he says. He just watches.
He watches life. He has died three times.
In Vietnam, his burned feet were not amputated
Before they could heal.
In Korea, he was shot in the leg.
In the Philippines, he was stabbed in the heart,
Woke in ICU, disappointed. If you can walk, they send you back.
He went AWOL in Iraq and they discharged him like it was their idea.
People see what they are able to see.

They expect you to come back
And live, to return to society, to meet people.
You meet people and they die, he says.
He is a wanderer, waiting to die, just watching
Watching life. He doesn’t finish the books he reads.
He doesn’t meet people. He is quiet, he knows
How to be silent.

I will never have a family, he tells me.
I will die alone.
I have seen everything.
People talk to me
As if I were human.
Not even close.
Not even close.

What the fuck, Dakota Fanning?
You've transformed before my eyes
Into a feral fawn, a femme fatale
And nixed the kid who cutely cried

It's vulgar, yes, but I can't resist. A haiku:
John Mayer's cock is
A white supremist; my cooch
A freedom fighter.

Damn, it's been a long time since I logged in here. I have missed the poetry. The ability to do this is reason enough for me to begin to love my newfangled (read made less than 5 years ago) phone. Technology may be a good thing after all.

And the difference between witches and fairies would be
What? A nose job? A glittering star on the end
Of a wand? Whatever. Grimm teaches us good and evil
Is largely a matter of semantics. Most of it has to do
With minor details, whether the dress is powder blue
Or black, the choice of footwear, the diction used.
Magic does not appear to discriminate. Only
Humanity. The way the witch is treated, can you blame her,
Really? Fairies fuck up from time to time, nobody minds.
And the moral is, what? Dress accordingly.
Public relations is an existential concern. Magic is an angelic whore,
Slave to whomever speaks the right words.

figured i'd post, since i've been holed up and haven't seen anyone in ages. it's official - me and kirk are calling it quits. i'm moving into a house very close to jonathan and lindsey. so if anybody's free tomorrow (Saturday) to help move a few pieces of furniture (very light pieces, very light) in exchange for pizza and/or beer, give me a call on the cell.
and help me think of something Carol Koss might like for her birthday next week. she's not giving me any hints. i don't know how i would have gotten through this whole deal without her.

that moment when the truth shakes loose
is a point on the timeline
where other universes intersect,
total eclipses of the irrelevant
when whatever you call god
gets the chance to poke through
to your reality.

do not disrespect
this moment when it appears for others,
though their gods appear as lonely clowns.
your god is no less strange.

open the windows
and let the sun caress your eyelids, making
green spots on a red eternity. there he is.
now speak.

put your hands on me
maybe my soul can run free
in your fingertips