words of a people aligned in their perfect order
two days ago the birds were singing
calling out for lovers
thinking it spring
today it is too cold to stand outside
unless you were getting paid
and even then…
Chicago winter in the 21st century
it rained yesterday and then
snow fell all night
but waking only to an inch of it
not worth it to shovel the drive
not worth it to get the mail
not worth it to smoke and look
at the grass peeking out from under the snow
even the windows are frozen shut.
January, 31st 2013
– Hoc Scripsi
I’ve lowered my standards,
the problem might be that I had them in the first place.
you easily forget when you were at your best
in endless pursuit to surmount each previous work
and your output dwindles until you are
only writing fifty poems a year
which I guess is fine
though it is easier to say more if so inclined
and uninhibited
by meaningless constraints and various medications.
but don’t worry,
I’m still on the medications.
– Hoc Scripsi
money
humbly
offers their
flowers
where did you get them? magnificent!
beautiful.
from the discard,
trash heap
the gutter, where everything
comes from.
the sewer, where everything
goes.
– Hoc Scripsi
I imagine that all (3 or 4) that frequent this blog have already been to scribd to read ark and other poems – feel free to share that link on your own page and on FB – help make my poems the stuff of legend!
but did you also know that you can own a professionally printed version of ark and other poems from pepper press? by clicking on that link and buying the 6 dollar copy of ark you also will get a free copy of my previous chap put out by free penny press titled “gypsy bars, back alleys and one way streets” –
that is pandering.
this is a poem.
1. the bending of steel
poetry.
coffee.
a love of hard liquor.
rifles, shotguns, pistols
revolvers.
men were bound by
thinner threads then these.
2. hammering to form
poetry.
coffee.
a love of hard liquor.
rifles, shotguns, pistols
revolvers.
man’s bind was broken by
thinner threads than these.
3. the fine blade
beauty.
art.
love.
the eyes and body move
of a naked dancing muse.
man’s mind was broken by
thinner threads than these
– hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 