looking down from the plane as I land to go home again the city below looks so neat rows and rows of cute little cottages houses with brown wood shingles checkered patterns of farmland pastures spotted with cattle no trash at this height no sight of the layers of people
I don’t hear right sometimes cause when she said don’t come back I was banging on the door the next day when she opened the door to say go away I grabbed her hair and rammed my tongue down her throat after she slammed the door behind us she said I told you I hate you and dropped
Thanks. I appreciate your help. j.
are you a lolly or a lita a dandy or a candy ass a Johnson Wilson O’Malley Clark a dick waving shit aren’t we all oh, but there’s a reckoning coming you ask me who am I and I tell you what I do father writer dreamer build upper and tear downer ask me m
I don’t wanna be a politico’ liberal I don’t wanna stand for anything I don’t wanna wonder in the afternoon if you’ve got a bomb for me I don’t wanna hide my stash or check my breath when you pull me over I don’t give a damn if that bag is Gucci and believe it or not m
I’m not a politico' it just doesn’t seem to matter which prick rules the world whoever it is I’m screwed I live with the nuts in town the guys that had a little too much of everything and got retired from active living look at the tattoos on crazy mike’s face it’s a fire a
Hey, very Hegel. The object apprehends the subject and thus defines it's being. But not truly, the subject as it-self can reveal itself to itself apart from the object. Hegel's slave need not kill the oppressor to know itself. So, in the abstract, the subject can stand alone--exposing the myriad posibilities of it's being-ness. I still like a pretty picture.
Please forgive me, but would someone explain what the numbers at the top of the article mean? "Home" does this mean the number of people who have seen the article? Thanks for the help. j.
I am a troll today I can feel my knuckles dragging on the ground like sandpaper the toothpaste made my jowls grow and left me with no minty scent the toilet paper made my ass burn and bleed mucus seeping from my bulging blood shoot eyes I knew I was a troll
RUN, don't pass go, don't collect 200.00, don't stop till your feet hurt and then run more.
I like this very well. I liked the cadence of the last three lines. thank you j.
I saw a mouse tonight he ran across the back of the sink quickly then pause looked at me stuck his nose in empty bud can then ran behind the plates in the drainer he was small maybe some teenager looking for thrills my apartment is probably an entry level ga
It is certainly sad and offensive, but to be fair, I have to wonder and imagine what is happening on the inside of the people in the arab countries. How much do you have to believe in something to willing to explode yourself to kill your oppressors. How much would I have to throw it all away. The terrible things we are seeing on t.v., newspapers and media are presented as if this had a cause and effect. In a sense it does, but I suspect that it ha
johnny l. lives three doors down across from norman the child molester he’s an old black man so cool shades are like ketchup on filet mignon others his age would step creep hunched over humpbacked johnny l. glides just a feather’s breath above the ground
dirty deeds aren’t always done in the dark sometimes they’re covered in Christmas lights and multi-colored glitter wrapped in cellophane like cheap easter baskets in the yellow-red clouds of new mexico (they tell me taos is gay and covered in silver) dirty deeds and money mons
they tell me to grab my bootstraps and pull pull and pull harder so I did but there aren’t any cowboys left and west is a left turn on pch and though I try I can’t seem to get my outcast look to elevate itself above the low standards I adhere too all my friends are b
“so, how is it being nuts?” the question floats through the air lazily like fog settling on doyle’s moor and I can only reach for it in a thorazine haze to grasp it in my butterfly net mind my response “not bad for living with ghosts.” J. Masuda © 2004 <!-- Ju-Ancho
Thank you. I enjoy this one very much. I imagined a field of orange poppies. j.
Thank you. I enjoy this one very much. I imagined a field of orange poppies. j.
I sit here breeze stroking me cool through windows shattered with paint chips typing this poem and I can’t figure out why I should wear clothing or boxers it’s humid and the breeze is only a secret not the wind storm I would wish for to hell with my pants oppressor of my b
all my heroes are suspect ricco big and black talks low a rumble you feel more than hear he walked tall just a hint of a limp for style before the crack sucked him dry he did have style but like the rest the mountain slid every step and he reached for a rock and got o
i can’t tell you why but I just can’t seem to homogenize blend fit in I don’t seem to have the right consistency I always sink to the bottom the therapist that thinks I’m a killer says “you don’t mix well, do you?” no I’m no fan of dockers my socks never mat
I got ghosts in my head everywhere I stumble down tracks chasing trains maybe dreams too I don’t know and I don’t but that’s ruben casey still on the roof like jesse james and john lee hooker popping caps into officer kinneson’s black and white like an alarm clock
Heaving her body Off me Landing to my side She said Do you believe in God Here of all Places Between the sweat and Gin soaked Sheets Curls of smoke Difting from a Joint Her toes playing a number On my balls Do I believe in God Never a day off Of cou
Thank you. j.
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