tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87391256668658682172024-03-13T03:30:43.130-07:00Both Middle FingersLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-33480165643805899662012-09-17T13:25:00.002-07:002012-09-17T13:25:42.828-07:00Hope
I hustled back from the grocery store with a couple bottles of red. I tuned in the local jazz station on my laptop, and opened the first bottle. I looked around to make sure the apartment was looking as good as it could. I sat two glasses down and poured wine into them. I sipped from one, and danced a bit, warming myself up on both fronts.
We had finally begun talking again just a week or so ago. It had been quite a while. It took some time and effort to get her to come over, even as it was clear she had wanted to as well. This was going to be a big night. I was nervous. I hoped we would be reconnecting and not discussing anything big. I was just thrilled for a start.
That first glass had gone down fast. I poured another, but realized I needed to slow down. The jazz was lively, and I couldn't help dance a bit. Slower, more romantic songs would play later, when we would (hopefully) be together, dancing and looking longingly into each others' eyes. Yeah..
8:30 came and went, but I wasn't concerned. She was usually late. It would be any time now. I went out into the chilly night air to wait, bringing my wine with me. I had been dying to see her round the corner on her way over for so long now. There were so many nights that I had stood there wishing to see her round that corner again, and now it was about to happen at any moment.
Suddenly, there she was, all smiles and carrying the same backpack as she had always carried. It meant she was going to stay the night. Yes! She was dressed to kill! I got an instant hard on.
“Hi Beautiful!”
“Hi!”
“Lemme help you with that.”
“No, I got it.”
We embraced the sweetest embrace and went inside. She placed her backpack down on the floor and looked around. Everything in the apartment was different than the last time she was there. It had been many months.
Neither of us seemed to know what to do. We had been there together so many times before, always as a couple. Now, however, we couldn't figure out whether to hold each other or tear each others' clothes off or what to do.
I handed her a glass of wine. We sat together sipping and began small talk. We were both nervous. She pulled out a bottle of red from her backpack. We did a taste test, and decided hers was better. We sipped her wine for a while, eventually finding ways to laugh.
After a while, a lively song came on, one we had danced to before. I got up and began dancing, then asked her to join. A myschievous smile built on her face and she joined me. We danced and I spun her around like I used to. I marvelled at the look her eyes held; the look of a woman admired and appreciated. Smiles imprinted each of our faces. We took breaks to sip more wine in between songs.
Everything was going well. We were fully enjoying our night in. it had been so long. It brought back many memories. Her delighted laugh echoed through the chilly night. The glow on her face seemed to illuminate the dim apartment.
A slow, timeless song came on. We danced close, feeling our bodies move against each other, wanting and longing to shred the barriers to our connection. We were starving for each other. Slowly we got closer, feeling our kiss without actually touching. The smell of wine hung in the air as if our breath kissed for us. The movement of our bodies was amazing foreplay, demanding more. The look in each others' face was unmistakeable. We were being swept away.
The first kiss was gentle and among the sweetest ever. The second was more intense. Our hands caressed each other, exploring appreciatively. The third kiss brought our tongues to caress each others'. Our dancing was increasingly seductive. Our hands roamed more and more. As the song ended, our passions rose even higher.
My hands caressed her curves, then slowly rose up her shirt. Her hands gripped my back. I unhooked her bra quickly, but smoothly. She let out a soft moan and our tongues glided over each others'. I lifted her shirt off gently but quickly. Mine came off quicker. We embraced each other and moved in stunningly sexual ways to the new song.
I licked her neck up to her earlobe and nibbled on it as she let out another moan. Her hands gripped my back tighter. I whispered, “So beautiful, so sexy.” into her ear. Her head was leaned back as I gently pressed my teeth into the base of her neck. I reached down and slid off her skirt and panties. She let out a louder moan as they fell to the floor. I firmly pressed my teeth into the side of her neck. She breathed heavily.
Jazz continued to play as we made our way into the bedroom. In very short order she was under me on the bed. Anticipation ran rampid. Our hands caressed and explored everywhere, savoring every inch of each other. Heavy breathing and moans were set against the background of jazz. I kissed down to her nipples, sucking each into my mouth and massaging with my tongue. Her body tightened up and her hands gripped my shoulders tightly. I kissed and licked my way down further. I ran my tongue down her curves on her right side. Her whole body awakened to the sensual. She was already broiling.
I kissed down further, licking her hips, building anticipation. Her body quivered. She was already beyond ready, but passionate flames could still reach higher levels. I kissed and licked her right thigh, stopping just short of where she so desperately wanted. I more slowly licked her left thigh, again stopping just short. She let out a loud moan and her back arched. She was truly broiling, set to go off in spectacular ways.
I kissed her clit first, with just my lips. Her body was quaking. I took a very slow lick, adding fuel to the fire, as she moaned. I gently sucked her clit into my mouth as I put my arms around her thighs, knowing I'd have to keep up with her movements. I settled in and began massaging her clit with my tongue just right.
She let out a gasp as her back arched severely. I felt her juices pour down my chin. She had already orgasmed, the first of many to come. Her body began quivering and quaking more severely as I switched from vertical to horizontal to maximize the effect as I sucked even harder on her clit. Her hips would rise sporatically and dramatically. I stayed right with her, relentless. Her moans and screams greatly drown out the background jazz.
Increasingly I felt her juices pouring. I delighted in feeling her throbbings against my chin as pleasures coursed through her body. Her moans and gasps spoke volumes. Her legs quivered. Once in a while I had to hold her legs from crushing my head. I was determined to give the best orgasms imaginable. I couldn't get enough. Orgasm after orgasm, too much just wasn't enough.
Suddenly her back arched more severe than I thought possible. She let out a huge, long gasp. She somehow held that position for a long time, albeit with some twitching of her body. She didn't seem to be breathing much. Her throbbing beat hard against my chin. Just as suddenly, she collapsed, panting. It was time.
I got up, and slid her up a bit further on the bed. I got on top of her and kissed her as her hands weakly gripped my shoulders. I reached down and slowly slid myself inside her. She was so swollen that it was difficult to even get started. As I got further in, she gripped me hard as her back arched. She was too swollen, and it actually kind of hurt to enter her.
I had to keep my hand down there to guide myself as I slowly worked my way into her more fully. Her moans turned to screams as I got deeper. Finally I got in far enough to take my hand away. As I pushed deeper, she wrapped her arms around me, holding tight. I worked my way still deeper. She yelled, “Hold me!” as I felt contractions inside of her. Finally I was all in, and began gently, but firmly thrusting. Her entire body tensed up as she gripped me tighter than ever. The background jazz was drown out by moans, screams, and the sound of skin slapping against skin. We were just getting started.
Whenever I would begin getting close to completion, I would think of something else. This way I could last longer. It wasn't easy. She was so swollen, and we were so passionate that I couldn't stop from losing myself inside her for as long as I wanted. It still took a while though. She gripped me very hard as I came and slowly ground my cum deep inside.
We lay just like that for quite a while, catching our breath. Her body kept quivering and quaking. Her eyes were so squinted I could only catch a slight glimpse into them. Her face held an expression of disbelief. She seemed to still be cumming.
I began kissing her neck and nibbling on her earlobe. Her body tensed again. It didn't take long for me to be ready. I could still feel the contractions inside her, pulling me even deeper. It was as if she was hungry for me. I began gently thrusting. She looked at me with an amazed look, as in disbelief.
I propped myself up with my arms and kept going. Her back arched and her mouth opened wide. I pulled one of her legs up and put it on my shoulder, then the other. I put my hands on her forearms. I had her right where I wanted her, and began thrusting harder. She gasped then screamed. I intensified.
The bed shook violently. She tilted her head to the side. Her expression read a combination of pleasures and maybe even some level of pain. Her breast bounced almost like a dance. Her toes were curled. Her back was arched. She throbbed deep inside. The sound of bodies colliding was like music. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. Again I lost myself inside her.
This time I laid beside her, catching my breath. She put her head on my shoulder. I leaned my cheek against the top of her head, my right arm around her. Her right arm lay across my ribs. It was sweet, cozy, affectionate. A slow, timeless jazz song played in the background. Sweat cooled off, so we pulled a blanket over us. I fought back some tears as I realized how much I missed her.
after quite some time of this, she raised her head and looked at me. Her smile said so much, but her eyes said more. Sweet affection, romance, and passion had returned to our lives. We were always able to combine making love and raw fucking, the best of all worlds. We were just getting started again.
She leaned in and kissed me, her tongue entering my mouth. She caressed my chest, leading up to my left cheek. She stopped kissing me, then looked into my eyes. She softly brought her fingertips down the side of my face before kissing me gently on the lips. Then her hands went down my chest as she again slid her tongue in my mouth. Slowly her hand reached my cock. I moaned as she stroked and stroked.
She broke of her kiss and looked into my eyes with a smile. She began kissing my neck and nibbling, even biting, as she stroked and stroked. I moaned as I knew what was coming. She kissed further down and further down, stopping just shy of where I wanted her to go. She looked my my eyes as if I were the greatest person ever, smiled, and slid her mouth over my cock.
She began slow and shallow, just stimulating the head. My body tensed as nerves reported the sensations. Then she went deeper, tightening her grip. Then she went deeper still. Every hair on my body stood straight up. Then she she began building speed. I looked at her, so beautiful, so amazing, going to town on my cock. Her long hair bounced crazily. It seemed magical madness. On and on she went.
Then she stopped about half way through. She climbed on top of me, and slowly slid herself over my cock, letting out a loud moan as I was fully inside her. I gripped her breasts with my hands as she began moving. Her hands gripped mine. Her head leaned forward, her hair flowing down. She moaned and screamed as her movements intensified. I felt the pressure of her against the head of my cock. I was all the way in her. My head rubbed against her hard. Her whole body twitched with every orgasm. It took all I had to hold back, but finally I let lose. Somehow she sensed I was about to cum and came violently at the same time.
She collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily, still quaking and quivering. I held her tightly. After a while, she rolled off of me, laying flat. I put my arm under her and lay on my right side, I gently ran my fingertips along her curves. Her body responded appreciatively. I brought them up the middle of her body to her neck, then down across her right breast and down lower. I ran my fingertip across her wetness to her clit, then began massaging it with firmness. Her body tensed as she gasped.
I licked her neck and nibbled her earlobe. I worked my way down to her nipples, continuing to massage her just right. She quivered, getting there again. She rolled onto her right side, but I kept massaging just right, squeezing her left breast while nibbling on her neck. It didn't take long for her to cum.
I reached down and put her calf on my leg, then slid myself inside her. Her back arched and she moaned. I held her calf in my hand, opening her up just right, and began thrusting. It wasn't as deep as other positions but somehow seemed even more intimate. Every thrust seemed to hit home, and she quaked and moaned nearly nonstop. I could feel every move she made as well as everything that moved her. The sensual seemed to reach ever more heights. She was broiling over. It excited me a bit too much and I lost it before I wanted to.
We lay there like that for a while. Her body still quaked from time to time. It was our old sleeping position. My right arm was under her pillows, my left arm fitting perfectly around her curves. Before long I heard her soft snore. It nearly brought tears to my eye. It had been so long, and I had missed her so much. Slowly sleep took me as well.
A few short hours later I was awakened by her absence. The bathroom door was closed with the light on. Whew!
She came out a few moments later. She was fully dressed. She didn't look at me. I got up.
“You're leaving?”
“Yeah, I just want my own bed.”
“Are you coming back?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see you to your place, then?”
“No, I don't think so.”
“Maybe one last embrace at least?”
we held each other for a few moments, she fully dressed, my being naked. We looked at each other appreciatively but sadly. It might be the last time we ever see each other.
We walked out through the living room. Bittersweet jazz still played. Our wine glasses still sat there, testaments to a wonderful night in. We kissed briefly at the door. I watched as she walked away, rounding the corner again. I sighed and closed the door.
I got dressed, knowing there was no way to get back to sleep. I sipped the wine from her glass, making sure to place my lips where hers had been, just like I did in the old days. I sat down and got on the laptop, turning off the jazz. I sipped wine and looked up football news. I needed the distraction.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-21132183836773881252012-05-22T00:11:00.001-07:002012-05-22T13:52:09.221-07:00gotten away“Can you just stand here with me for a while?”
Ten seconds later she kisses you,
Forcing her tongue inside your mouth
Then walks away, looking back and smiling
As she leaves with some guy,
Having proven her point.
Yet, all you can think of
is the woman you love..
the one who may have gotten awayLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-5128151274477285772012-05-21T23:50:00.000-07:002012-05-22T13:49:26.722-07:00BitchesJobs and relationships are similar;
Everyone bitches about them,
Until they have nothing to bitch about.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-23760308367179961582012-05-21T23:48:00.002-07:002012-05-21T23:48:30.982-07:00understandingI never fully understood
Bukowski’s Genius
Until I had a relationship
I actually wanted to keep.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-14281174151859702152012-05-21T23:36:00.000-07:002012-05-22T00:03:56.967-07:00GrowthThe tortured minutes churn
Into hours that make up the day
And the days, slowly,
Turn into weeks
Which turn into months
And slowly, so slowly
The wounds turn to scars
And memories fade
Into the current consciousness
the flood subsides
And the sting of the loneliness
Becomes the norm once again
And one cannot help but wonder
If it could ever be good again
If their best times have already past
And the new norm is distant, cold,
Heartless, lifeless, and silent,
but open to possibilities,
although none are appealing
all it offers is newness.
The sound of muffled weeping,
A pillow soaked through
Takes the place of lovemaking
That would be followed
By the soft snore of a loved one
And the cold morning
Gives way to stumbled footsteps
Heading to the coffeemaker
Walking on her rug
Seeing her painting
Outside staring at the place
Where she would appear
Rounding the corner on her way over
For a night of greatness
Only strangers appear there now
Going to the club that was once ours
Only strangers are there too
They buy shots and say
“I love this guy!”
There’ll be no love tonight.
Finding little things she left behind
Remembering happier times
When she was around, or at least interested
It feels almost like continuation,
Yet almost like a death
What would she have wanted me to do?
What would she think of this?
Wait until she hears the news!
Yet she is nowhere to be found
The only her is of memory.
And the minutes churn to hours
And then to days and weeks
The love and laughter turn to silence
Hope dies a slow death
And memories fade to legion
A warm heart grows colderLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-2971980043027378872012-05-21T23:09:00.000-07:002012-05-22T13:55:11.536-07:00SoundHas there ever
been anything
sadder
than lone footsteps
in a place that
once held love?Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-3973006219356923792011-12-06T14:33:00.001-08:002011-12-06T14:33:35.853-08:00You get offYou Get Off by Liam Spencer<br /><br />The not yours flies past creating <br />a burst that drives rain, dirt, and leaves<br />into your frigid body <br />while you stand waiting too long,<br />eager for the warmth and rhythm<br />of the bus that’ll take you <br />south from the lovely city <br />where you live spartanly<br /><br />a young woman stands distant<br />typing at her phone, but<br />you notice that she keeps looking<br />to see if you’re looking<br />but you’re not interested<br />and she looks sad.<br /><br />Another woman walks up, smiles, and <br />asks if the 43 has been through<br />“No, haven’t seen it.”<br />Then she wants to know where you’re going.<br />She has smiley eyes and a nice body,<br />Early thirties, near her prime,<br />But you’re in love and taken,<br />Remembering that just an hour ago<br />You held her and kissed her goodbye<br />And now you miss her warmth,<br />And long for tomorrow<br />When you’ll have <br />her close to you again.<br /> <br />The damn bus is late, and you wonder <br />if it missed you somehow<br />and you think of giving up<br />staying home. damn appointment anyway<br />and yet, finally, doors open in front of you<br />and heat meets your wind whipped face<br />as you climb aboard.<br /><br />There are few people and all try<br />To pretend they’re not checking out <br />Others on the bus. You look around<br />And wonder what their stories are<br />What their lives are like<br />Their wants, passions, hopes<br />They all seem lost, seeking, hoping<br />someone will find them, validate them<br />somehow. They say it in their eyes<br />there’s a desperation, yet they’re all young, <br />and very attractive.<br />More stops and more get on<br />As some pile out.<br /><br />The bus rolls on through downtown<br />And you watch attractive and well dressed<br />People with seemingly nice lives<br />Going about their day as you imagine<br />They always do.<br />And you notice everyone seems <br />Attractive and well dressed,<br />And you don’t really want to leave<br />This area of the city <br />To go south, where thing are much tougher<br />And far less beautiful,<br /> But you must make the appointment.<br /><br />Then it happens. It’s as if <br />there came a line that was crossed,<br />and all the attractive people scurry off the bus,<br /> pour out on the streets,<br />and race north, as if they are afraid <br />of being somewhere they’re not supposed<br />to be. And you sit there and watch<br />as the beaten down, downtrodden, and ugly<br />begin piling on the bus.<br /><br />Their faces say so much<br />But their eyes say it all.<br />They’re not looking for acceptance or validation.<br />That has been dead for a long time<br />In them. There is no searching for hope<br />Or even longing or desire for beauty.<br />They face a day of pain and humiliation<br />And the bus rolls on, further south<br /> <br />And you realize it’ll be another day and a half<br />Before you hold her in your arms<br />And you remember the sweetness of her kiss<br />The disappointment in her face that you <br />Had to go away early that morning.<br />You count yourself lucky to have her<br />And try to focus elsewhere.<br /><br />More people pile on the crowded and noisy bus<br />You check the time and route, trying to figure out<br />Where the hell you’re going<br />And when this journey ends.<br /><br />Then you realize it is just beginning, really. <br />This is your new chapter.<br />The bus rolls on, and your back <br />Is now killing you, especially when the bus slows.<br />Some people argue behind you<br />And people turn and stare unkindly<br />To let them know they’ve violated unwritten rules<br />The arguers hush themselves and mere <br />mumbles are heard. You move to the front of the bus <br />to grab a schedule and get away from arguments.<br />The driver looks at a crossword puzzle at every red light.<br />She’s immersed in this misery too.<br />And the bus winds its way through narrow streets <br />Lined with plain and dreary houses<br />Where people merely exist and hold on as best they can<br />For as long as they’re able.<br /><br />And finally the bus gets on a highway<br />It won’t be long now<br />And those remaining on the bus<br />Grow quiet as if appeased by some <br />Sort of progress in their lives.<br /><br />exiting the highway brings back <br />the restless conversations, <br />and those exiting the bus outnumber<br />those climbing on by four to one.<br />Where the hell is your stop?<br /><br />On and on and on and on<br />It seems to never end.<br />And you wonder if you’ll end up<br /> like these people,drained of all hope,<br />denied a life, condemned to misery<br />and you understand now<br />the attractive people from earlier,<br />seeking, longing, searching, hoping<br />and you miss the her that has your heart<br />and you swallow as your thoughts <br />turn to the rotten fuckers that hold your future, <br />your hopes, your very life<br />in their incompetent hands that shuffle<br />paperwork that their empty, yet ruthless minds<br />cannot possibly comprehend, <br />yet they have absolute power<br />over you, over everything.<br /><br />And you gear up to face one of them<br />Who’ll later kill you while smiling.<br />Your chest tightens. Your heart thumps heavily.<br />Your stop is next.<br />Wind whips leaves and dirt and rain<br />In circles, as the world waits <br />to batter you because you’re down<br />the bus pulls up, the doors open.<br />You get off.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-29966274653576914882011-03-19T23:30:00.000-07:002011-03-19T23:31:16.427-07:00Islesthe isles are tough to navigate<br />for a lone person at night<br />as they’re clogged with families<br />loud children who rarely get out<br />exhausted men trying <br />to seem fine with it all<br />walking beside their unhappy women<br />who struggle to find <br />a mere once of happiness<br />as they pile their carts high<br />with cheap food and few goodies<br /><br />you pass by knowing to not be annoyed<br />but to be thankful you’re not them<br />other things flood your mind anyway<br />you chose your items quickly<br />and make way to checkout<br />where lines are long<br />some push their way ahead <br />of those nice enough to allow<br />the louder and more aggressive <br />steal their way and impose themselves<br />makes them feel bigger I guess<br /><br />a little girl behind you in line<br />picks up the divider you set <br />and swings it around<br />then smacks your eggs<br />her mother yacks on the cell<br />while piling food high on the conveyer<br />the checkout woman glares<br />someone steals your empty cart <br />while you pay your bill<br />theirs was too full<br /> <br />$50, half wine, gone<br />4 bags, including the eggs<br />Your head aches but<br />You remember you’re not them<br />The cashier takes a few moments away <br />to grab you a cart<br />while you bagged<br />such a person is rare indeed<br />and makes the night a bit betterLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-43203782983830213882011-03-19T23:14:00.001-07:002011-03-19T23:14:49.357-07:00At lastNothing works in this life<br />I don’t either<br />Just keeping a vehicle <br />pointed in the right direction<br />brain dead or dying<br />noise from the radio<br />numb legs and spirit<br />looking forward to the wine <br />that sits waiting for me at home<br /><br />the internet’s down again<br />the brakes grind with every stop<br />cable’s too costly<br />silence fills the expensive apartment<br />I wait for my movie to load<br />Ten hours or so<br />I won’t be interested by ten<br />I don’t work either I guess<br /><br />Outside are stumbling of others<br />They don’t work either<br />Not really. They look to be shells<br />Fitting in, being all right<br />Being another brick<br />Hurling toward the end<br />Purposeless.<br />How can their lives be working?<br />They don’t live them<br /><br />I sit and drink and think<br />I’m better this way<br />Than spending money<br />To be around those who don’t work<br />Even as they need breaks from their jobs<br />Grappling for superiority <br />Drinking, fighting, fucking<br />All mere tools to impose their rule<br /><br />I don’t want to deal with them tonight<br />Or most nights. My wine kicks hard<br />And softly lands me to comfort<br />In front of the keyboard<br />Where I can let my writing free<br />And be free. Of them. Of superiority.<br />Of domination, or the struggle for it.<br />I can be the lover, not the fighter<br />Passion, swaying from good to bad<br />Yet alone and needing it all<br /><br />The fan still runs out some of the outside noise<br />The glass full of cheap red<br />A lone cat outside the window<br />Commonality at last.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-52859300345793791622011-03-15T23:25:00.000-07:002011-03-15T23:26:08.161-07:00sunsetThe purple you wear is like the sunset<br />That spotlights the gorgeous reality <br />Of earth and sun as they circle each other<br />Round and round, year after year<br /><br />And we stand there admiring the colors<br />As the cold wind kicks up<br />Punishing us for daring to enjoy<br />The intensity of the sun <br /><br />I look at you in your beauty<br />Your eyes alive even as you’re relaxed<br />Purple looks great on you<br />Contrasts your light complexion<br /><br /><br />Us standing there in a moment of beauty<br />Holding each other <br />Is like the sunset<br />A moment in time in going round and round<br /><br />Enjoying the intensity of us<br />For the moment, before<br />Going away for a while<br />Just like the sun<br /><br />And the cold wind of your departure<br />Will punish me for enjoying our intensity<br />Before your return<br />I await the morning of your presence.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-7025547647059582722011-03-15T23:05:00.000-07:002011-03-15T23:06:06.621-07:00blocksI sat trying to uncork more than wine<br />I knew there was something I had to write<br />But it didn’t come easy for once<br />It was like waiting for ketchup <br />To drip out of the bottle<br />While your fries get cold<br /><br />My fries are blocks of iceLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-1066400278604605852010-12-18T00:54:00.000-08:002010-12-18T00:55:01.982-08:00malledOlder men rest their aches in recliners<br />At one end of the mall<br />Sprawled out and trying to resist looking foolish,<br />So they fight sleep by keeping an eye open,<br />Watching for hot young women passing by<br />There are plenty of them<br /><br />Stroller speed mixes.<br />The larger the family, the slower<br />Single mothers rush by<br />As if repulsed by the other breeders<br />They’re different, somehow<br />Their baggage is less<br /><br />Young couples walk hand in hand<br />Some slow, the girl fussy and unhappy<br />Some brisk, she’s happy so he’s happy<br />They pick their future stroller speed<br />And their lot in life<br />The mall’s what forms it for them<br /><br />The very old line up at the buffet<br />And chuckle in common<br />At the futility of the younger people<br />They see the fate we all have at the end<br />How meaningless everything is<br />Except eating<br /><br />Many attractive women wonder the malls<br />Not too young or too old<br />Their wiggles crying for attention<br />Even as they do not<br />They didn’t yet go the route of stroller races<br />A matter of time and a guy that’ll do<br /><br />They look good and feel like shit<br />Each a pain in the ass<br />Settling for what guy they can accept<br />Good enough to get them pushing a stroller<br />And seeking a buzz from purchases<br />From the mall<br /><br />I walk out, light a smoke<br />Stand alone, inhaling and exhaling<br />Wondering about life and purpose<br />Depressed, hopeless, enjoying <br />the cold, lifeless wind<br />that’s more comforting than the mall<br /><br />I walk away, glad to be alone.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-14581188897395220642010-11-20T19:11:00.000-08:002010-11-20T19:12:37.353-08:00Bulls in the atticI rolled over in the uncomfortable bed. My back was killing me. Ugh, another day of this shit. It was 10:30 in the morning, and my head hurt worse than usual. I rose and went for the only known cure for the morning blah; coffee. After the pot was set, I went to the bathroom and did my routine. I still felt like shit and faced a whole day of it. I wished I could have fast forwarded to after work, when I’d be home drinking wine and catching up on the days’ news while I waited for Zantha to come over.<br /> There was an opportunity we were exploring. It was a 5,500 sq ft building with storefront, warehouse space, and offices that could be converted to a place to live. All that for much less than an apartment! I had doubts they’d lease it to me. They wanted a business plan and financials. I had neither. Zantha was very optimistic, though, and was coming over to help prepare paperwork. I would be so glad to see her!<br /> After a third cup of coffee, I looked at my cell to see if anyone sent a text. It showed I had missed Zantha’s call. Being awake enough to converse, I eagerly called back, figuring she was bored at her store and wanted to talk. The day was starting well after all.<br /> Her day was going far worse than mine! First, she ran out of coffee at her house, so had none in the morning. She remembered I had left coffee at her store the last time I was there, and so headed to the store early to take her cure for mornings. She arrived to a waterfall in the middle of her store. Upstairs plumbing of the old building had developed a leak. Forty pieces of clothing were soaked. She called the building owner and left a message, then called the maintence guy, who called the plumber. Then she rearranged the store to make room for the new waterfall. <br /> What a day she was having! It was busy for a Tuesday, but few stayed long. The place was a mess. Sales were lost. A couple hours later, the building owner had come in to see the new store design she had just completed. He did not get his voice mail. He stood staring at the waterfall, then left to make more phone calls.<br /> We talked for a good half hour. She was understandably upset, but there was a delighted wackiness to her voice. It was bad, but an adventure. I love that about her. She can take the shittery of life and make it an adventure, so long as it doesn’t take too long to be resolved. We talked and laughed, but had mixed in empathy and frustration in the conversation to keep each other sane. Soon, she went back to thinking of ways around the water and I left for work. The fun was over, for a while, anyway. She’d still be over that night, and more enjoyment was in store.<br /> It turned out more bad luck was to follow. The plumber came, assessed the situation, and left to get pipes and so on. The waterfall continued. Customers came and left quickly. Time rolled on and on. Still no plumber. Hours later, a phone call solved the mystery; his truck broke down. He wouldn’t be back that day. The water for the building would be turned off after closing, but the water would continue to fall all night.<br /> My route was fine, the usual shittery, but nothing too terrible. My back ached, I couldn’t feel my legs, and felt devaststed when filling the gas tank. The usual plight of the underemployed. I counted the hours until I’d have both wine and Zantha, and hope for opportunity. I daydreamt about it all; the storefront would hold Zantha’s second store, which meant more time with her. The apartment built in the office space. The warehouse converted to a playhouse and wine bar. The cheap rent and higher income. Being a business owner again. The return of my old self; ambitious, optimistic, driven, hopeful, not just a low paid employee with dim prospects who depended on coffee and wine to make it through the day.<br /> Toward evening, Zantha sent a text explaining that she had a monster headache and was going to lay down for a while. I knew what that meant; no Zantha tonight. Gone was the adventure she had in her voice earlier. It had taken too long. I couldn’t blame her. What shit to have happen! She lost money from sales, had 40 pieces damaged, and nothing had been resolved. Small business owners don’t have much margin of losing before it becomes a huge deal, and have to strike while sales are available. She had taken a hell of a hit. I found myself wishing I could give a long massage and clear the way for her to sleep sound.<br /> That evening we spoke by phone again, and she told me all about it. Nothing was done about the waterfall all day, and she wondered about the next day. I listened and tried to support her. No help could do anything but ease the stress slightly. It was numbers and frustrations, all external to us. Conditions can be so ruthless. I offered to help at the store in the morning. She accepted. We got off the phone after an hour or so. I had a few more glasses of wine, tried to write poetry, and went to sleep.<br /> The next morning, I woke with a severe backache that overshadowed my aching head. Coffee brewed, bathroom routine done, and ached stretching out of the way, coffee brought focus. It was 8:30. Coffee helped me remember why I was up so early; Zantha. I chugged two more cups while smoking, filled my thermos, and was out the door.<br /> Zantha’s store was rearranged to cater to the demanding water, but she managed to make it look alright. There was a big tub in the middle of the store, filled with last night’s water. Zantha and I slid the tub out to the parking lot and dumped it. We put it back with little water on the floor, and I worked on the carpet with a shopvac. Zantha went about the store trying to make it look as good as possible. It was early, so few people came by anyway.<br /> Shortly, two plumbers came in, needing to get to the attic to work on the pipes. Zantha showed them where to go. They hardly looked like professional plumbers. They looked more like rural farmers, with overalls and dumbed down facial expressions. They had rural, almost southern accents. Thre was a certain drawl to the speaking. I had known guys like that; unruly, clumbsy good old boys who lacked style, consideration, or common sense. Bulls in china shops. I worried for Zantha. Don’t get me wrong. I was and am a dog, but I can be a well behaved dog. They’re bulls. Bulls just destroy.<br /> Having cleaned up as well as could be done, I could have left. There was nothing more I could have done. I stayed around for Zantha, as I worried about the farmer/plumber bulls that were in her attic. Customers were coming in. Zantha flowed magically through the store helping them pick the right looks, the right clothes, the right everything. The bulls in the attic thumped and stuffled voices could be heard, much like Charlie Brown’s teacher. I could see the collision course; the cultured, upscale customers in the store and the bulls in the attic meeting head to head. The bulls had nothing to lose. The customers would leave, offended. The only one who could lose was Zantha. I pondered calling off work to head off the bulls. I was the bullfighter of a woman’s clothing store.<br /> The bulls came and went with pipes and tools, and thumped around in the attic and clanged at their truck. As late morning arrived, more ladies tried things on, and the dressing rooms were rather busy. Many tuned out the waterfall and got in the zone of shopping. Things were going as well as could be.<br /> With everything going on, there was one thing neither I nor Zantha had thought of. While the bulls sounded muffled from the sales floor, they could be heard perfectly from the dressing rooms. It wasn’t an issue early, as few customers ventured in the store, and few had gone into the dressing rooms. Now those rooms were busy.<br /> A woman who had been in the zone for quite a while headed for the dressing room with a pricey sexy outfit . She was an older lady, probably in her early fifties, and conservatively dressed. She walked past sporting a devilish grin and a bright glow about her. It was clear that just the thought of owning such an outfit was making her day. Knowing nothing about womens’ fashion, and not caring about anything except taking clothes off, I was amazed at the effect clothes can have on a person. It gave me an even greater admiration of Zantha and her passions.<br /> The lady was in there quite a while. Then it happened. The bulls in the attic had been coming toward the stairway after taking off the leaking pipes. That put them close to the dressing room and the cash register where Zantha and I were standing. <br /> We over heard one bull say to the other, “Now THEMS some old pipes!”<br /> There were thumps in the dressing room. Shortly, the older lady darted from the dressing room. Her clothes were unkempt, and her shoes barely on. She darted past, redfaced and furious, emabarrassed and hurt. Zantha held her head low, her hands over her face, trying to suppress anger. I held her close and waited for bulls to climb down the ladder. I knew bulls would respond to a bullfighter better than to a classy woman like Zantha, so I offered to talk with them. She went to the other customers. I went to fight the bulls.<br /> “Hey guys, can I speak with you for a moment?”<br /> They glared harsh. Bulls on the ready. “What you want?”<br /> “she has customers here. They can hear you in the dressing room. A lady heard you about old pipes and thought you meant her.”<br /> Laughter erupted. Make a bull laugh, and he’ll do what you want.<br /> “It sounds funny, but it cost Zantha a sale of $250. Would you laugh if you lost $250 in 3 seconds?”<br /> There was no laughing.<br /> “Just please watch what you say, and try to stay away from the dressing room area. You might want to apologize to Zantha too. She’s losing a lot of money with all this.”<br /> The bulls sneared a bit, then went to the truck. Zantha was glowing about another sale. My God, what a woman! What talent, smarts, skill! She rebounds from everything with a glow, with class, with smarts, with beauty. I watched her a while in admiration, doing her thing, smiling and glowing. A Godsend. A miracle. Everything would be just fine with her, despite it all. Waterfalls, disasters, lack of coffee. She’ll always be amazing.<br /> It was time for me to go to work. Back to realities of traffic, killer back aches, headaches, idiot customers, incompetent managers, low pay, dim prospects, hopelessness, and low wages. At least Zantha would be over that night. There was much to look forward to, and much to be happy about. I climbed in my little clown car. I had been the bullfighter, now I was the clown.<br /> The mindless, soulless clown car pulled out of the parking lot, and drove away from the store. The brakes ground at every stop. Sports talk came from the radio. Rain was swept away by wipers. There was no feeling in the legs that operated the pedals. An aching back leaning against the seat. A numbed spirit paired with an empty mind went on autopilot to get the day over with. Cigarette smoke rolled out of the window. A new day was at hand.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-74358474506564081472010-09-21T01:06:00.001-07:002010-09-21T01:06:45.752-07:00TideThe tide is marvelous when it rolls in<br />The water is just over one’s foot and calm<br />With waves that caress the beach<br />Like gentle foreplay <br /><br />In the distance appears incoming waves<br />White water catches the eye first<br />and the galloping gangs of tide quickly close in<br />while the water levels rise<br /><br />soon the waves pick up speed<br />growing sounds of water crashing <br />determined white water pummels <br />relentless, intense, unstoppable<br /><br />just a short while ago<br />water was just to your ankles<br />now it’s nearly to your waist and climbing<br />as you back toward shore<br /><br />the sea isn’t satisfied and sends more<br />push you back toward shore<br />as wave after wave hits you<br />and tries to take you<br /><br />as intense as it is, you know the tide will disappear<br />and you’ll look for it to come back again<br />you’ll long for it’s intensity, it’s action<br />it’s sounds, even it’s pummeling<br /><br />you’ll miss the high tide like a good woman’s love.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-30481345251915135822010-09-21T00:33:00.000-07:002010-09-21T00:35:37.913-07:00Our damn brokeWe walked along the beach<br />as the sun set<br /><br />The waves crashed <br />as the tide rolled out<br /><br />We walked hand in hand<br />as people passed by<br /><br />The sun fought the clouds<br />as if it could win<br /><br />We conversed pleasantly<br />as if nothing were happening<br /><br />The wind blew hard<br />as if it could topple everything<br /><br />We built a damn of sand<br />as if it could hold the stream<br /><br />The water held back and rose<br />as if held by our damn<br /><br />We watched the colors of the sunset<br />as if it mattered to us<br /><br />The wind grew colder<br />as if to hurry our sunset<br /><br />We held each other tightly<br />as if we meant it<br /><br />We resisted the changing climate<br />as if it were our last moments<br /><br />Our damn broke, our sun set<br />as if any other result were possibleLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-41929536623232535412010-08-09T23:01:00.000-07:002010-08-09T23:02:46.301-07:00Hell of a wasteThere’s a man leaning against the concrete<br />Sitting with a cup and a sign for help<br />No shower, shave, clean clothes, or meal<br />For days on end. One of countless.<br />A couple of women walk by<br />One very pregnant. Concrete faces.<br />A preacher asks me if I know Christ.<br />“Yeah, but others need him more.”<br />“YOU KNOW him?!”<br />“Yeah, move on to the next.”<br /><br />The preacher leans down and prays with the beggar<br />“Oh Jesus this oh Jesus that…”<br />Isn’t he supposed to be Jesus?<br /><br />Teenage boys walk past and taunt the preacher <br />And homeless guy. Others walk past<br />Pretending not too see or hear.<br /><br />The punishing sun beats down<br />Upon all the passers by.<br />There are young couples trying to impress each other,<br />By saying the right things<br />There are old couples passing by,<br />Trying to reconnect by saying the right things<br />There are children passing by <br />Trying to have the right experiences<br />There are loners passing by<br />Trying to seem connected<br />There are beggars sitting around<br />Trying to seem worthy<br /><br />I count what money I have<br />To buy a sandwhich and a drink<br />And marvel at the lies that walk and sit<br />If not for the sunshine and fresh air,<br />It’s a hell of a wasteLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-63006325517551096862010-07-08T08:27:00.000-07:002010-07-08T08:28:18.643-07:00Laying in bed on a Thursday morningLaying in bed on a Thursday morning<br />Your eyes barely open<br />Still slumbering face<br />Mischievous smile fronts severe hangover<br />From a hard night’s drinking<br />Fuzzy thoughts of empowerment<br />Change and contrast<br />From the dull life of suburbia<br />Coffee in bed, spoon and milk nearby<br />Struggling to converse with <br />The stray wino who kept you up <br />Before I leave for work<br /><br />Sitting on the chair <br />That someone had abandoned in the hall<br />Wine bottles and half full glasses<br />Sit on the table with too many things<br />Talk about everything and anything<br />Drink and laugh<br />Your delicious bitterness and sarcasm<br />Echo the tiny studio<br />Your eyes light up in rebellion<br />From your past and present<br />Comments that blast<br />The bullshit of the life<br />We are all to aspire to<br />Your words and slams are poetic<br />Even as you don’t realize<br />Say so much <br />In ways no one else can<br />Makes me feel closer<br /><br />Walking up huge hills to follow sunshine<br />On cloudy, chilly days<br />Just a few blissful moments <br /> As the sun begins to set <br />On the vacation of your presence<br />A matter of hours <br />Before you’ll return <br />To the dull world <br />You made fun of the night before<br /><br />Your hot body dancing in the studio<br />The stray wino struggles to keep up<br />While jazz plays on the tv<br />Your moves are amazing<br />So sexual, so arousing<br />Curves and legs, hips and breasts<br />Amazing smile and eyes that hide nothing<br /><br />The long, sweet embrace <br />That becomes bitter when it ends<br />Because it ends<br />Holding tight like a woman in love<br />Feel your heartbeat<br />And your soul<br />Knowing you’re the only one<br />There were none like you before<br />You cannot be again<br /><br />The beautiful voice<br />That changes when drunk<br />Becoming sentimental or scornful<br />And at times sorrowful<br />About life that disappointed<br />And things that were <br />To be different<br />Including yourself<br /><br />A driving force to enjoy<br />And live to the fullest<br />A lone torch in the darkness<br />Frustrated by the late sunrise<br />So beyond special<br /><br />The beautiful face<br />With classic features<br />So much class<br />But drunken by cheap wine<br />Drunk with the stray wino<br />Your eyes gleam with energy<br />Despite signs of exhaustion<br />Defying the propers<br />Being adulterous with the stray wino<br />And loving it<br />Sleep hits like bricks from the sky<br />Hot sexy body crawls into bed<br /><br />Being blessed to experience <br />These and so many countless others<br />With such a special woman<br />Wears on the soul<br />Like a beggar who <br />gets gourmet dinners a few times a week<br />Instead of the usual dollar grease burgers<br />It feels so amazing while dining<br />But so bad after the plate is empty<br />As he wonders if he’ll have another meal<br /><br />There had been others<br />Few here and there<br />But none like you, Babe<br />There just aren’t Beccas running around<br />What and who you are<br />Has never been and won’t be again<br />You are original in every way<br /><br />All the other subscribe to this or that<br />Follow scripts, be someone else<br />Cookie cutter, unoriginal, unthinking<br />Just following the crowd<br />Or going against it on purpose<br />No one else gets it<br />No one else can <br /><br />there you sit <br />or lay or walk or talk<br />or drink or dance or laugh<br />or cry or blast or think quietly<br />share much with me<br />create memories <br />That haunt when you’re not here<br /><br />The parking spot outside<br />Waits like a puppy <br />For his owner to get home from work<br />Tonight it waits in vain<br />The chair awaits that amazing ass<br />As the space longs for your voice <br />And energy and laugh<br />The table is eager for your glass<br />The bed is haunted by our love making<br />Lengthy talks, cuddled slumber<br />The kitchen remembers our first long embrace<br />After our first date<br />And longs for one of us to be cooking <br />For dinner or breakfast together<br />The shadows eagerly await<br />They remember the moves<br />And motions<br />They long to party too<br />Celebrate us<br /><br />You’ve been gone around 13 hours now<br />And even as I know you’re coming back<br />I miss you, Beautiful<br />The place just isn’t the same<br />It won’t be until you return home.<br />Becca, I love you.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-41423106815222300642010-06-23T02:02:00.001-07:002010-06-23T02:02:50.103-07:00Just keep smilingEveryone knew Chuck was a good guy. He was tall, handsome, smart, and friendly. He’d give the clothes off his back. There was a downside. Chuck liked attached women. Married, engaged, committed. Whatever. He was always getting them. They couldn’t resist the charming looker. Chuck was always in trouble.<br /> I was a distant friend. We drank together. He passed a couple attached chicks my way when I needed them. We hung out once in a while, part of a crowd that tried to get women. We’d hit the dive bars for cheap drinks, then hit the clubs. Chuck was a leader and something of a hero to many drunken guys. Many tried to copy Chuck. No one succeeded.<br /> One night we did the usual. We hit the local dives, got drunk and high, then went to a happening bar. It would be crowded and hopping. Chuck had been bragging about a blond he had a few nights back. He detailed her body, her voice, her climax. He was bothered because she cried afterward. She was engaged, and actually loved the guy she was with. Now it was over.<br /> No one imagined Chuck could be sentimental. The whole thing bothered him, for some reason. His face reflected pain. He walked hunched over, defeated and broken. We tried to cheer him up. It was no use.<br /> We walked into the bar. The band played and hot women ran around in next to nothing. We stood and checked out the crowd, inventing strategies to find women. Chuck had lived up, as we knew he would.<br /> There was some yelling in the distance. Suddenly I saw a big guy coming at us. He was airborne with fists flying. <br /> Chuck yelled, “It’s him!”<br /> The scene unfolded in slow motion. I was too slow. The punch hit me harder than I thought possible. I flew against the wall, but somehow didn’t fall down. The sound of “Ohh” filled the bar. All eyes were on me. The puncher got up and looked at me. It was confusion.<br /> For some reason, I was smiling. Maybe it was being able to take such a hit. Maybe it was what I had wound up. <br /> My fist was on route. My back and legs added to the force. My fist was more than half way there when I found myself airborne. The bouncer had intervened. The door collided with my head, or vice versa. I was on the sidewalk. Blood ran everywhere. I jumped up, too pissed to see straight. I was going to kick somebody’s ass!<br /> Two cops rushed past me. I heard the sound of brawl inside, and rethought my wanting to go back in there. A third cop stopped and yelled;<br /> “HEY! YOU STAY RIGHT THERE! RIGHT THERE!”<br /> I waited for the cop to go inside, then I left. What? Was I that stupid? Would my going to jail help anything?<br /> In the end, Chuck had been beaten pretty bad. He would never be the Chuck we knew. The fight had pounded sense into him. The bar was left in bad shape. The fight made the newspapers. The cops remembered to look for me. They never found me.<br /> The guy who beat chuck was a brute, and known for violence. No one took him on. However, from that night on, he left as soon as I showed up. I was a legend, and my smile remembered. I will never forget the look of shear terror that man gave. He hit me with all he had, and saw me standing there smiling. I know it was just the wall holding me up, but I never had to hit him or even speak to him, and he feared me terribly.<br /> Just goes to show the importance of being able to take a hit and keep smiling.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-47237024656492060982010-06-22T04:12:00.000-07:002010-06-22T04:13:22.990-07:00graveyardShe would leave on a Sunday night<br />Or a Monday morning<br />Leaving me with a dead place<br />Haunted with passions<br /><br />I would walk in after minutes or a day<br />See my mess and hear vacancy<br />Glance for a nugget she may have left behind<br />Never a lonlyness that deep<br /><br />Gradually the place would feel mine again<br />Not ours. Not about her.<br />I’d drink and smoke and write<br />Nasty stuff, but true<br /><br />On many levels, I would look forward <br />to her coming back and<br />drinking with me<br />before going to bed<br /><br />the next day she would leave the place just as dead<br />as empty as the graveyard<br />as I lied in bed like a corpse with a pulse<br />but not as dead as most.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-67789624210619509252010-06-22T03:47:00.000-07:002010-06-22T03:53:08.928-07:00good“Do you want me to take my robe too?<br />It’s the most intimate thing I have here.”<br /><br />“No. you don’t have to take anything.<br />Just thought you wanted to.”<br /><br />Her backpack was full.<br />The tears in her eyes were more full.<br /><br />A long embrace in the same messy kitchen<br />as when we met the first time.<br /><br />She stood sighing, sad, driving forward<br />Or backward. Away one way or another.<br /><br />She didn’t look back or forward<br />just didn’t want to be where she was<br /><br />Kisses, gentle and other<br />passions and caresses<br /><br />Last touches of a love<br />building for some time<br /><br />Eruption as tears escape the hot eyes<br />and burning emotions<br /><br />tears making a run for it<br />falling to the floor and sizzling<br /><br />Lying side by side, intense crying<br />holding, comforting, reassuring, ending<br /><br />Wine no longer flows.<br />Laughter a distant memory.<br /><br />Silence smashed by sobs<br />sense of rot strenches the air<br /><br />Wide eyed and broken<br />weathered face sees through darkness.<br /><br />with glazed over eyes<br />been here, done that<br /><br />Another chapter winding down<br />reluctant yawns, hating the coldness<br /><br />Within a day the bed will be cold<br />even the shadows will forget the moves of love<br /><br />Life swallowing silence will take over<br />memories fade to dismissal<br /><br />Lifeless rooms, cold bed<br />numb mind, drunken body<br /><br />Remembering what may not have been<br />what shouldn’t have began or ended<br /><br />Return to normal half life<br />only sound of fans as company<br /><br />All good things must come to an end.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-39591491619575463922010-06-19T20:10:00.000-07:002010-06-19T20:20:06.204-07:00turnWe talked and drank and smoked<br />As I tried not to look at the roll <br />That greatly surpassed her tits<br />As she sat drinking and smoking<br />But no one could help but notice<br /><br />We talked and drank and smoked<br />And I sized her up<br />She was a merely decent looking woman<br />But pleasant, likeable, intelligent<br />There was also obvious availability<br /><br />We talked and drank and smoked <br />on the porch while others milled about<br />we covered politics and personalities<br />ethics and commonalities<br />no fluff, right to the point<br /><br />we talked and drank and smoked<br />and she began telling me <br />what she found attractive about me<br />face, arms, legs, smarts, personality<br />I thought she was going to make a pass<br /><br />We talked and drank and smoked<br />And she went on<br />To say that there was one thing <br /> that detracted from my attractiveness;<br />my belly is too big.Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-43977048139760899712010-06-02T00:58:00.000-07:002010-06-02T00:59:34.925-07:00old sayingBefore writing the nights away<br />I worked seven days a week<br />Impossible hours, impossible conditions<br />Year after year after year<br />Never missing one day<br /><br />Then the economy collapsed<br />I got stuck working just forty five hours a week<br />Instead of a hundred and ten<br />Rotting and wasting, getting in trouble<br />Losing my mind<br /><br />I started writing; poems, stories, novels,<br />I was addicted immediately<br />Now I sit and drink and smoke and write<br />Deep into the night<br />Churning out work after work after work<br /><br />As I think of it, I have actually managed <br />to combine workaholism and alcoholism<br />and now I cannot stop either.<br />Frying pan and fire;<br />not just an old sayingLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-72877892531002240682010-06-02T00:38:00.001-07:002010-06-02T00:38:24.395-07:00Lessons from old housesThe old houses are still standing in those towns<br />A century or more of memory, few good<br /><br />Thick dust pours from every crack<br />Dead with past subsistence<br />Alive with warning of wasting lives<br />The timeless struggle before death<br /><br />Houses were made of lumber back then<br />Actual lumber, from trees<br />Built to last centuries<br />Warehouse generations of cheap labor<br /><br />They appear sad from the front<br />To remind adults that live there <br />that their fates are sealed<br />destined for dust<br /><br />Who owns who? The house have seen their kind<br />Watched them decay from young and vibrant<br />To old and broken and dying,<br />Decade by decade, generation by generation<br /><br />Walk those streets today and see<br />The generations turned to dust and vague memory<br />Struggles that led nowhere<br />Old dreams that died, whether realized or not<br /><br />Remember all those that pinned their existence<br />To “owning” those houses, laboring decades<br />They’re all gone, but the houses remain<br />To trap more into laboring decades for the house that’ll outlast <br /><br />The streets are filled with warnings<br />Lifetimes of struggle and savings<br />Leave nothing when all’s said and done<br />When existence is wastedLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-50852106976340250392010-06-01T03:43:00.001-07:002010-06-01T03:43:50.144-07:00EverHas “One more” ever been literal?Liamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8739125666865868217.post-64774747641597741352010-06-01T03:24:00.001-07:002010-06-01T03:24:57.038-07:00chirpA body inside a silent apartment<br />Mulling over what a life is to become<br />Concentrating on direction, occupation<br />Obligation, copulation, masturbation<br />Considering politics, policy, tragedy<br />Dumb luck, sperm lottery of inheritance<br />Power, prestige, nobility<br />Hopelessness, homelessness, despair<br />Rot, ruin, death, pain, torture<br />Broken hearts, divorce, expense<br />Happiness mythology, chemicals, <br />Violence, repression, war, famine<br />Cruelty, hatred, social hierarchy<br />Childhood, adulthood, ancient civilization<br />Food, hunger, work, reward<br />Animal, passion, horniness<br />ranking, shopping, consuming<br />Spending, paying, fitting in<br />Going without, going green, being proper<br />Getting drunk and passing out<br /><br />While birds sing cheerfully outside the windowLiamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09004358838434095633noreply@blogger.com0