New York Kisses

New York Kisses

I wish I could awake in the middle of the 1980's and walk in my own skin, from Bennett to Brighton, and sleep on a beach all night. I want a teenage summer romance, that's filled with passion, where I can sing to my girl with my ego. I have a burning sensation in my veins, I have the dust of the desert in my bones, daydreaming of break-dancing hallelujahs to your daughter, filled with water in my soul. It's Monday and I thought about a friend that passed and all we went through. I wish she was still in my life, she always told me, 'not to be scared of the future and not to forget these summer nights that will always be ours.' I still love the way she smiles. I wish all would be forgiven and we could walk over that burned bridge.

I've been dancing on my kitchen floor, happy that the rain finally stopped. I used to want to be a star on Broadway when I was younger, singing a chorus about breaking a young girl's spirit and gluing the pieces back together with my hands; come on take my hand. I used to dream of driving all night throughout the town, looking to my right, and seeing your eyes--trying to touch my heart. I've never had a night on the town. Deep dark lights with two-steps from the two very best dancers in New York City.

FIN.

Petya PoopyPants

It's not art, just words. I swear.

It's Not Art, Just Words. I Swear.

I want to write words that make people assume, think, react. I want to be able to fill up pages with sexual innuendos and gripping nonsense. You know what I do? I connect. I get people off. I look for the guys and girls who aren't getting off, and I make them get off. I want to earn an honest living with weapons of mass destruction charged with love. I want my words to be misunderstood for what they are actually worth; art.

Write letters and notes in preparation. To have my readers turn into a stampede of raging elephants battling vicariously.

To stand on soap boxes in a world with no sound. It's all as simple as I make it. Slander and slaughter. It'll be over soon enough. Climaxes of speeches and electioneering collapse as lead hits bark. I want to shout volumes about the branches that looked like paint, they ran and stood on, or in, or outside, the lines, to spark thoughts about the trees in the foreground and the gestures of trees in the background. To have people listen about how the first cigarette of my day, makes me a feel a pulse for the first time in what felt like days. To have people listen to me describe how something subtle creeped down my spine, something from somewhere between the tall concrete I walked between. Or something from the dimly lit apartment that stole so many of my words.


Fuck it...


Without definition, or restriction, my teeth most assuredly were doing me a favor. Every word they were able to stop from chipping out into the open air was full of disgrace, dishonor, and invariably, quite anti-climactic. I figure silence and cryptic movements are my safest bet. Almost unconsciously I will put the cigarette out beneath my feet, and think, "I'll just never understand." I'll find comfort in solemnity.

FIN.

Tear Open My Chest to See Uncle Sam's True Colors

Tear Open My Chest to See Uncle Sam's True Colors

Tear Open My Chest to See Uncle Sam's True Colors

I pledge allegiance to the sweet nectar between the statue of liberty's legs.

To the red, white and blue stars and stripes that consume my body.

I promise that the pursuit of my heart will out weigh the ideals of my green filled phallic mind.

I will contain my lust for plowing the New York City cabs with my existence.

I shall withhold my urge, for aimlessly Pollacking my white seed, on the stomach of the Brooklyn bridge.

This is dedicated to the girls I loved and to the girls I really loved.

I can't cook.

I can't grill on the fire escape of a Manhattan apartment.

But, But I can clean.

Clean up the mess that Uncle Sam left all over your heart.

FIN.

JUNE 02, 2009

JUNE 02, 2009

I sat there on the stairs of my fire escape, which was cluttered with my all kitchen's cleaning supplies from under the sink; that was keeping me company for the last hour and a half, while I was on the phone with a friend. I crossed my legs, to keep my full bladder from spewing out of my genitalia. I took another pull off my snow white Marlboro light cigarette. I exhaled and smiled. 'Everything is back to normal again.' I thought to myself. It's funny I was doing the same exact fucking thing last summer. I took a giant swig off my golden Corona light, to finish it off finally. I placed it beside the other three I had finished during my conversation over the phone with my friend. My friend, that's a funny term. A friendship that has been terminated and rebuilt on multiple occasions. I took another deep pull of my cigarette, flicked the ashes, and watching in a marveling suspense as they drifted and glided in the cool morning summer air. I feel really good right now. I uncrossed my legs. 'It's five in the morning again, and I'm not tired. I'm sure I will be later today. I should get some sleep,' I thought to myself as I looked at the time on my cellphone. I crossed my legs again. I took the last drag from my cigarette, and flicked it into my superintendent's backyard, gazed at it as it hit the ground and the cherry turned into fireworks upon impact, filled with burnt orange pigment. I smiled, opened my apartment window and delinquently walked through my window into my empty kitchen.

FIN.