on the corner
across the street
sun beating down on my face
and I do not torture myself
over shortcomings
– Hoc Scripsi
June 30, 2010
on the corner
June 30, 2010
stunned and lovely
I’m suppose to be writing the most perfect of poems but am sitting around doing nothing. I’m disgusted by the news on the wire and prose badly written meant to move us to tears. but this is nothing that we haven’t seen before this is nothing that I’ve not written before, it’s not my birthday so there is no excuse and the book on my nightstand rests with the mark on page 309, SO I trade in bonds to pay for new landscaping and feel really stupid and wonder what I will hear next but not from who.
most of all I really want to be stunned and lovely.
fuck the songs that say differently, it is never easy unless it is. Standing out strongly but in fear and not beautiful but gently. It was last Friday night and suspecting that this would be here like it is and I’m not saying goodbye.
here’s to life!
here’s to life.
viva la vida –
a star, quarter,
four fingers of Johnnie Walker
chocking back the innocence
to truly gain perspective.
– Hoc Scripsi
June 29, 2010
a poem not about E.E. Cummings
Cummings wrote some wonderful stuff
about the prostitutes of France.
painting them remarkably deteriorated and
painfully beautiful;
the fragrance of nightly breath enough
to usher tears into existence.
so many,
I’ve painted and/or sketched words
about were this.
more we’ve made great who
were not, some
lent away greatness, now
insignificant.
never have I been a whole lover.
never have I known to give at such a level.
only that I have been the prostitute
in some sense of sense;
never the sexual admirer
that was E.E. Cummings.
– Hoc Scripsi
June 28, 2010
sometimes I miss smelling like an ashtray
In the interests of full disclosure, I don’t smoke anymore (much) nor drink (much) as it crosses badly with the medications. I’ve simply replaced those addictions with others that aren’t as cuddly.
musing
the bottle says,
La Cerveza Mas Fina
actually, I couldn’t
agree more.
my preference is with lime
and I am not alone on this.
or if I am then why does
the store stock them together?
it’s like cigarettes.
20 class A cigarettes…
‘A’ class cigarettes,
I couldn’t agree more.
– Hoc Scripsi
So, the lawn will not mow itself no matter how much I concentrate on wanting it to. I cannot delay it as the heat will surely kill me later and I’ve got to see the doctors anyway.
I must be kept medicated and safe.
though without the meds I would gladly start drinking and smoking again.
June 27, 2010
to kill poets
the poet’s word albatrossed
to the secret villain,
hanging on like stink
from decadent fish.
this is our RSVP, their
invitation to KILL POETS.
not with censorship,
with bullets.
– Hoc Scripsi
I have a minor obsession with being assassinated, I think I’ve mentioned this before but sometimes we all repeat ourselves don’t we. Maybe in a past life, somewhere in Argentina or El Salvador I was disappeared permanently. The victim of some nations dictator extreme rendition.
Or maybe I was a cuddly bunny rabbit in hunting season. If so I hope that my name was Theodore and the family that ate me enjoyed the meal.
whatever I was, now I am a poet and consider it a poets duty to be a threat to both the vox popoli and the powers that be.
this is how I get after storing things in the attic, small confined space and all.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 