what i need to stop doing

what i need to stop doing
Originally uploaded by jchavez483.

Lists have a knack
for being annoying.

They seem to exist
to squeeze out
every
ounce
of fun
from my life

Does anyone ever make a list like this?

-smoke pot before parent's arrive
-drink 15 cocktails at xmas party
-try cocaine in public bathroom
-have unprotected sex (again)
-skip work to go shopping

I call that realistic.

I hate myself.

Neglect

good morning.
Originally uploaded by swissmiss.

There are some things
I cannot abide,

but they are far outweighed
by the shit I put up with

because I am simply
too lazy.

For example,
for weeks I have been negelecting
myself by not taking my insulin.

At the same time, I have obsessed over poetry

and words.

Justin The French Fry (color)(repost)

Justin The French Fry (color)
Originally uploaded by rev_justin.

My son drew this for me. I just had to post it.

(I actually had the b/w version up earlier, but I f'd it up somehow)

the most realistic photo i've ever taken of my father

the most realistic photo i've ever taken of my father
Originally uploaded by nicole s.

It has
taken me
this
long

to understand

the inherhant
value

of this chaotic mess
of a
life.

Where is the joy in my restraint?

I am ready
to
let
go
now.

That Bridge

Passerelle Solférino
Originally uploaded by Hugo
(looking for his pink elephant).

She has a strange attraction to that bridge.

I used to think it was her fondness for
the architecture. She is that kind of bookish girl.

In the mornings, I would call
and let the phone ring ten times,
just like my mother told me.

Call her cell phone, leave a message, fume.
Stomp off to work. Stop for coffee.

The barista says she hasn't been around for several days.

Just last year, we sat stoned and lovely in her room.
She played Janis Joplin on her guitar.
I raved about the Talking Heads.
She ran her wool-socked foot gently up my calf.
I almost died with the sheer joy of the moment.

She showed me her favorite photograph
of that bridge.

Yesterday, I finally went down there to see what
the fuss was all about.

and now I understand.

It's not the bridge,
but who is waiting
under it.

This text was also inspired by
the collective photos of begin the age of love.

.3-sized

The goal: one poem a day
The reality: 9 poems in 13 days.

Let's see....that works out to...approx. .7 poems per day.

Now if I could just come up with 9 .3-sized poems to cover my butt.

Okay...here goes:

1) Fending off the urge to
2) I haven't seen them anymore
3) Like a yellow whisper on the moon
4) Bump, bump, bump
5)Water
was
a
tree
6) against the smooth tile, she found her only solace.
7) WASABI!!!!
8) Grow with me, grab my binky
9) Smell my hand and tell me what love is

Go ahead and mix and match these .3-sized poems with any of the other poetry you see on flickrverse and we'll just call ourselves even.

Don't go asking me to find .3-sized photos to match. I don't have that much time.

Dallas-Love on a Sunday afternoon

Dallas Airport Concrete
Originally uploaded by Chris Blanz.

I should be home
getting fat on wine
and routine.
Instead, I have been herded
into lines A then B,
poked and pushed,
overcharged, delayed,
expensed - yadda, yadda, yadda.

Everyone here looks fresh from a porn set, a Republican hootenany, a date rape and/or too many hours at the Nordstrom's make-up counter.

It's hard to feel real here, I guess.

It's supposed to be the great American adventure, right?
Every person is a fascinating story waiting to be told?
Beautiful in their own way?
One of God's children?

The only place I've found God in Dallas-Love
is in the pyramid schemes of the drunks behind me
spouting, "He's a Christain businessman."
He really cares about the people he is stealing from.
At least they got their dog and pony show.

In a land where nothing is sacred, we try to justify our greed
and then jam it down the throats of the unbelievers.
It's because we care.

I just got off the phone with my wife.
In her own way, she forgives me
for leaving
the house
a mess.


*I cheated a little bit on this one. I composed the poem at the airport today and found a pic to match after-the-fact.